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CHAPTER FIFTEEN — THE GOLDEN RESCUE
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2026-02-21 16:44:54The back doors of the van didn't just open; they were torn from their hinges.
The heavy iron groaned and shrieked under a force that felt supernatural, falling to the asphalt with a deafening clang. Smoke and the blinding white glare of the overhead searchlight flooded the interior, turning the space into a purgatory of dust and shadow.
Then, he appeared.
Lucien Blackwood stepped into the light like a god of ruin descending into the underworld. Even amidst the chaos, his elegance was terrifying. He was still in his bespoke charcoal suit, the fabric clinging to his broad shoulders and long, powerful limbs, but the polished businessman was gone. In his place stood a predator of such immense, dark aura that the air itself seemed to freeze.
His height was imposing, a silhouette of absolute authority that made Ethan look like a panicked child. The searchlight caught the sharp planes of his face, the high cheekbones, the straight, aristocratic nose, and those eyes. Those grey eyes were no longer glass; they were molten silver, burning with a fury so cold it felt like ice against the skin. He was breathtakingly beautiful in his rage, a perfect masterpiece.
"Ethan Vance," Lucien’s voice came out as a low, guttural rasp that carried more weight than a scream.
Ethan scrambled backward, his gun shaking so violently it rattled against the metal siding. "Lucien, wait! We were just…"
Lucien didn't wait. He moved with a lethal, fluid grace that the eye could barely track. In one heartbeat, he was at the edge of the van, in the next, he had Ethan by the throat. The sound of Ethan’s breath hitching was the only noise as Lucien lifted him off his feet with a single hand with that cold and unflinching expression.
"You touched what is mine," Lucien whispered.
Lydia tried to raise her suppressed pistol, her face pale and twisted with a sudden, paralyzing fear. "Don't! Stay back!"
Lucien didn't even look at her. A red dot appeared on Lydia’s forehead, followed by a dozen more on her chest. The silent snipers from the hovering helicopter had her pinned. One move, and she would be covered in her own blood. She dropped the gun, her knees buckling as she collapsed in a heap, sobbing in sheer terror at the sheer pressure of the dark aura radiating from the man before her.
Lucien’s gaze finally shifted to me.
In an instant, the murderous tension in his frame shifted, though the fury remained. He dropped Ethan like a piece of unwanted trash and stepped toward me. I was huddled in the corner with my trench coat torn and my face bruised, trembling with a mix of adrenaline and relief.
I looked up at him, feeling like a small, broken kitten in the shadow of a mountain.
"Lucien..." I breathed, my voice barely above a whimper.
He didn't say a word. He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't demand to know why I had left the apartment. He was beyond words, his rage was so terrifying that he seemed to be holding the entire world back from exploding. He reached down, his large, warm hands sliding under my knees and behind my back.
He lifted me as if I weighed nothing, pulling me tight against his chest. I buried my face into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent of sandalwood, expensive whiskey, and the metallic tang of ozone. He was solid, a fortress of muscle and silk, his heart thumping a slow, heavy rhythm against my ear.
As he carried me out of the van, I saw the scale of his wrath.
The industrial road was a war zone. Dozens of black sedans had boxed in the area, and men in tactical gear, his private army, stood over the mercenaries Ethan had hired. The mercenaries were all on their knees, hands behind their heads, faces pressed into the dirt. They were professional killers, yet they looked like frightened sheep in the presence of the Blackwood heir.
Lucien walked through the wreckage with the posture of a conquering king. He didn't look at the carnage. He didn't look at the sirens or the flickering lights. His eyes were fixed forward, his jaw set was in a line so rigid it looked like it was made of granite.
"To the hospital, now," he commanded as he reached his personal car.
"Sir, the board meeting…" one of his subordinates started, stepping forward.
Lucien’s head snapped toward the man. The subordinate instantly recoiled, his face draining of color. The sheer, suffocating weight of Lucien’s gaze was enough to make a grown man’s heart falter.
"Search the board," Lucien rasped. "And bring me the names of everyone who funded this. If a single cent of Blackwood money paid for that van, I want those accounts emptied by dawn."
He slid into the back seat of the car, never letting go of me. He kept me tucked against him as his arms felt like a crushing, possessive weight. I felt small, fragile, and utterly safe, even as I felt the tremors of fury radiating through his body.
The drive was a blur of high-speed turns and silent tension. Lucien stared out the window as his hand tangled in my hair and his touch firm yet strangely careful. He still hadn't spoken to me. He wouldn't. He was too busy holding back the tide of violence that wanted to spill out of him.
When we reached the private wing of the hospital, he didn't wait for a gurney. He carried me through the sliding doors, his stride long and commanding. Nurses and doctors froze in the hallway as we passed; the air seemed to hum with the intensity of his presence. People pressed themselves against the walls to get out of his way, terrified by the dark, regal figure carrying the bruised woman in his arms.
He placed me on a bed in a private room, his eyes finally meeting mine. For a split second, the fury cracked, revealing a raw, jagged hole of agony and terror, the look of a man who had almost lost his soul. But as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, replaced by that deathly, silver coldness.
"Don't move," he said. It was the only thing he’d said to me, and it wasn't a request.
He turned to the head doctor with a terrifyingly cold face and murmured. "If there is a single permanent mark on her, I will buy this hospital just to tear it down with you inside."
I watched him as he stood by the window, his back to me with his shoulders rigid. He was a beautiful, terrifying devil, and I was the cause of his fall.
Just as the doctor began to check my pulse, the door burst open. It was Marcus, his arm in a sling, his face pale and covered in bandages.
"Boss," Marcus panted, his voice shaking. "We found the papers in Lydia's bag. But that's not the problem."
Lucien turned slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Speak."
"It wasn't just Ethan and Lydia," Marcus whispered, glancing at me with a look of pure dread. "The override codes for the garage... the ones they used to track the SUV... they didn't come from Ethan. They were issued from a private terminal in the Blackwood Mansion."
My heart stopped.
Lucien’s face didn't change, but the glass in his hand, a cup of water a nurse had just handed him, shattered in his grip, the shards cutting into his palm. He didn't even flinch as the blood began to drip onto the white hospital tile.
"Mother," Lucien whispered.
"Marcus," Lucien said, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a death knell. "Get the car ready. We're going home. And bring those papers."
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Aria's POVThe morning sun filtered through the high-performance glass of the medical wing, turning the sterile room into a soft, hazy gold color. Lucien was still asleep, his breathing deep and even for the first time in hours. I hadn't moved from his side. My head was rested on the edge of his mattress, my hand still tucked firmly in his.The quietness was shattered by the sound of heavy, rhythmic footsteps in the hallway. These weren't the silent, tactical steps of Chen or Marcus. They were deliberate and commanding.The door slid open, and Helena Blackwood stepped inside.She wasn't wearing her usual structured boardroom armor. Instead, she wore a simple black silk wrap, her silver ha
FORCED TO WED THE BILLIONAIRE CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE — A LOVE MEAL
Aria's POVI sat by Lucien’s bed for hours, my hand locked in his. The nurse’s words looped in my mind, Genetic. Chronic stress. Alcohol. I looked at his pale face. This man, who moved mountains to keep me in a gilded cage, was crumbling from the inside out. Every time I had fought him, every time I had looked at him with cold suspicion, I had been pushing him closer to this bed. The guilt was like a heavy weight in my chest, heavier than the wooden box still tucked in my jacket.I didn't want to ask about Vane anymore. I didn't care about the boy on the beach or the "J" on the compass. Not right now. I just wanted the man in front of me to breathe without a machine.Around 4:00 A&z
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Aria's POVI stood outside the glass doors of the private medical suite, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of Lucien’s chest. He looked fragile, pinned to the bed by plastic tubes and glowing wires. The high-tech hum of the monitors felt like a countdown I couldn't stop.Marcus stood by the door, his arms crossed over his chest. His suit jacket was off, his shirtsleeves were rolled up, and his eyes were bloodshot. He looked like a man who had been at war for forty-eight hours straight."He’s stable," Marcus said, though his voice lacked its usual iron. "But the doctors say the next few hours are critical. The strain on his heart was too much."I turned to him, the wooden box with the silver compasses still heavy in my pocket. "Marcus, talk to me. What really happened? You said it was the mission, but I saw the scars. That wasn't just shrapnel. That looked like a lifetime of trauma."Marcus tightened his jaw. He looked at
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Aria's POVLucien was still standing by the darkened television, his silhouette cast in jagged red by the emergency lights. He looked like a king standing amidst the ruins of his palace. His chest was heaving, his hand still white-knuckled around the grip of his gun."Lucien?" I stopped in my tracks as I called out.My voice was cold, filtered through the new layer of distrust I felt. I still had the wooden box tucked behind my back, the silver compasses biting into my palm. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to demand the name of the boy in the photo.But Lucien didn’t turn around.He stayed frozen, staring at the black screen where Vane’s face had been moments ago. Then, a strange sound came from him, a harsh, wet wheeze that sounded like air being forced through a crushed pipe.His gun slipped from his hand. It hit the thick carpet with a dull thud."Lucien!"My suspicion vanished, replaced by the sharp, electric jolt of my
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Aria's POVThe library was too cold. The air felt thin and clinical, like everything else in the high-tech prison Lucien called a home. I stood against the mahogany shelves, my fingers tightening around the small wooden box. Inside, the silver compasses clinked. The sound was soft, but in the dead silence, it sounded like a warning.I turned the bent compass over and I felt the tiny, jagged engraving on the back.J & A.The letters were old and faded. A was for Aria. That was me. But the J was like a hole in my life. My mind searched for a name, a face, or a voice but I found nothing. The amnesia was a solid wall, cold and unyielding.Lucien had told me I was alone. When I woke up in that hospital bed, he was the only thing I had. He told me my parents were dead. He said I had no siblings. He said he was the only anchor I had left in a dangerous world.Liar.The thought didn't come from my brain. It came from my
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Aria's POVThe silence following my question was more than just an absence of sound, it was a physical weight. Lucien’s hand, usually an immovable anchor of strength, was trembling against my waist. The "Dark Lord" who had just dismantled a boardroom full of predators looked like he was staring at his own executioner."Lucien," I repeated, my voice dropping to a whisper as I searched his face. "Who is Vane? Why are you reacting like this?"He didn't answer. He couldn't. He looked at Marcus, a silent command passing between them that I couldn't decipher. Without a word, Lucien hauled me toward the private elevator, his stride frantic and disjointed.As the doors hissed shut, plunging us into the high-speed descent, Lucien finally turned to me. His eyes were no longer silver, they had darkened to something terrifyingly black."Vane is a ghost I thought I had buried, Aria," he rasped, his voice sounding like grinding stones. "
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