Chapter Four

Darian’s POV

Soon, I’d be having the perfect day with my wife.

My Wife.

The word echoed in my head, pulling a low, triumphant laugh from my throat. It was a title of possession. Soon. Very soon, I’d finally have someone I could call mine,someone the world would know belonged to me. I adjusted my cufflinks, the diamond studs catching the light of the stained-glass windows. I lifted my wrist and checked my Patek Philippe.

10:02 a.m. Two minutes late.

I exhaled slowly and leaned back against the altar. Relax. George probably missed a turn. Sylvie was never careless. She was likely just adjusting her veil for the tenth time. The minute hand moved.

10:04. I scanned the entrance again, my jaw tightening. The light coming through the doors seemed too bright, too empty.

10:10. My fingers tapped against my thigh as unease crept in. The orchestra had gone quiet. Guests shifted in their seats.

By 10:25, whispers rippled through the hall like a disease.

At 10:35, one of my best men stepped closer, his brows drawn together.

“Hey, man,” he murmured, glancing around. “What’s going on? Why isn’t she here?”

I straightened my jacket, forcing calm into my voice.

“This isn’t like Sylvie,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket. “If she was delayed or something was wrong, she would’ve called.”

I pressed her name.

Ring… ring…

“The number you’re trying to call is not in service.”

My thumb froze.

I ended the call and dialed again. Same response. Again and again.

By 11:00 a.m., my palms were slick with sweat, and my throat felt like it was closing in on itself. I loosened my collar, dragging in air that refused to fill my lungs.

I dialed George and it went straight to voicemail. That's when my control snapped.

“Where is my wife, for fuck’s sake?” I roared, my voice echoing through the hall.

A collective gasp rose from the guests. Someone in the front row stood up abruptly, but I didn't see them. The world had narrowed down to the black screen of my phone.

“Darian, calm down,” one of my men said, gripping my arm. “Let’s call the police.”

I shook him off, barely hearing him. My chest rose and fell too fast. My phone buzzed suddenly in my hand.

An incoming Call. Restricted Number.

My heart slammed violently against my ribs as I stared at the screen. Then I answered almost immediately, “H—Hello?” I answered, my voice coming out numb.

“If you don’t want her to die,” a distorted, mechanical voice hissed into my ear, “Prepare one hundred billion dollars. No police.”

My knees weakened, the strength leaving my legs as if I’d been hamstrung. I slumped against the altar, clutching the wood for support.

“Please,” I whispered, the word a broken plea. “Please don't hurt her. I’ll give you whatever you want. But please just let me talk to her.”

There was a pause and a terrifying, silent void. After what felt like forever, I heard her.

“Darian,” Sylvie sobbed, her voice breaking through the static. “Darian, please help me—help—”

The line went dead.

“No!” I shouted, as I stared at the dark screen. This can't be happening. My bride? Kidnapped?

Silence swallowed the room. My hands trembled violently now. I could still hear her screams ringing in my ears, sharp and helpless.

I turned to the men around me, my eyes blazing.

“Call the police commissioner,” I ordered hoarsely. “Call everyone. I want every man we have looking for her.”

I swallowed hard, forcing the words out.

“I need my wife back. And she better be safe, or I will burn this city to the ground to find the man who touched her.”

After twenty minutes, we had moved to a small office beside the church and while we were waiting for feedback from the men searching, the police commissioner, Chief Miller, usually calm and responsive, looked stressed and overwhelmed, standing with his team by a satellite map. I crossed the room in three furious strides, ignoring my own people.

“What is the progress, Chief?” My voice was low, but ragged, the control I usually wielded frayed at the edges. “I don’t want any useless updates about protocol or what not. I need a location. I want her back.”

“Mr. Thorne, we are utilizing every resource that we have, and I have just been informed by the intelligence unit that it is a bit hard to track the phone since it is a burner phone and it's not easy to track except the kidnappers call again.”

"Well, I don't care. I need results."

Why is this happening now? Why the hell would he do this? Today of all days. Is he allergic to Sylvie's happiness or what?

“But it's closest location," the chief interrupted my thoughts, "is the ruin beside the phone tower...”

“I don’t care where the burner phone was!” I roared, slamming my hand onto the conference table with enough force that the coffee cups rattled.

The sound silenced the entire room. My fear, suddenly unleashed, was a violent, terrifying thing.

“I want my wife back,” my voice broke at this point. “Please, please I'm begging you."

"I'll give you any amount that you need, whatever you need just let me know, okay? I don't care about anything else, I only care about the woman who was supposed to be my wife!"

"We are trying our best, Mr Thorne and we will find your wife in no time."

I nodded and turned back muttering to myself, "The man who did this is the monster who killed her parents and now hunts her, he is dangerous. He plays games with human lives, and I will not let him win this one.” I said, trembling. “Who knows what he's going to do to her.”

“Sir, do you know someone who you think is responsible for this??” Chief Miller asked.

“Yes.” I answered grimly.

“And who would that be?” he asked slowly.

“Kael Voss,” I said with certainty.