Chapter 66 — The Kidnapping

I woke to silence. Not the peaceful kind of silence that blankets a home at night, but the kind that carries a warning—a vacuum of sound that presses against your ears and makes your chest ache. Something was wrong.

At first, I thought it was the girls. But then I realized their rooms were empty. My heart stopped.

I bolted upright in bed, heart hammering, every muscle tense. The room was dark, moonlight seeping in through the curtains. Lucian’s side of the bed was empty. My father wasn’t there either. Confusion mingled with fear in a way I couldn’t name. And then I heard it: the low, deliberate click of a lock turning.

The door to my room swung open slowly.

He was there.

The villain. The man who had haunted the shadows of my childhood, the one who had been waiting all these years for a chance. His eyes glinted with satisfaction, the cruel calm of someone who knows he has you exactly where he wants.

“You,” I whispered, voice shaking, “how—”

“Shh,” he said, cutting me off. His voice was soft, almost intimate, but it carried the weight of death. “No need to scream yet. I came for you. But not for you alone. I came to remind your father that the past… never forgets.”

My chest tightened. Everything he said was designed to hurt, to terrify. To make me see my father’s guilt reflected in my fear.

“I warned him,” he continued, stepping closer, “to stay away. But he came back. So now… you will pay the price.”

Before I could react, everything happened in a blur. A hand clamped over my mouth, another twisted my arm behind my back. I struggled, screamed silently, kicked and twisted, but it was no use. Years of training in self-defense, years of vigilance, meant nothing against the sheer strength and planning of this man.

“Lucian!” I tried to cry, but my voice was muffled, and he wasn’t there. My father? Gone. Only shadows around me.

He dragged me through the house with terrifying ease. I could hear my father shouting, calling my name, the girls waking, crying in confusion. But the villain ignored it all.

“This is for your father,” he said, each word deliberate, dripping with venom. “Every tear you’ve caused him… I will repay.”

By the time he pushed me into the black SUV waiting outside, my entire body shook with adrenaline and fear. My father appeared at the front door, his face contorted with rage and panic, but there was nothing he could do. Lucian had already disappeared into the shadows of the house, making his move.

The doors slammed. The engine roared. And I realized the terrifying truth: he had planned this for months, maybe years. He knew exactly what he was doing.

The drive was silent except for the low hum of the tires against asphalt. My hands were bound, my mouth gagged, my heart racing uncontrollably. Every instinct screamed at me to escape, to fight, to survive—but he had accounted for every move. Every route, every possible resistance. I was trapped.

He glanced at me, a twisted smile curling his lips. “Do you remember the judge’s daughter?” he asked softly, almost conversationally.

I froze. I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. I knew exactly what he meant. That night—the scream I had let out, the near tragedy I had stumbled into as a child—had made me a target. And now, years later, it had brought me to this moment.

“I almost killed her,” he said, leaning closer, letting his breath brush my cheek. “But it doesn’t matter. You saw. You survived. And now… you’re mine.”

My blood ran cold. Not just for me, but for my father, for Lucian, for the girls upstairs asleep, unaware of the storm descending.

“I warned him,” he continued, voice low and cruel. “I told him to stay away. I told him not to meddle. But he came back. And that means… you’re mine to take.”

Back at the house, chaos had erupted. Lucian’s fury was no longer calm—it was volcanic, dangerous, all-consuming. His brothers had mobilized the moment they realized the SUV had left the driveway, and Lucian himself was a hurricane of lethal precision. Every thought, every move, every instinct was singular: get Sophie back.

He called my father, giving him precise instructions, keeping him close but out of harm’s way while they tracked the SUV. Every piece of technology, every surveillance camera, every ally they had was in motion. Weeks of careful planning, of patient tracking, were now compressed into hours.

And then came the bait. The villain wanted attention. He wanted my father to know exactly what he had done.

Lucian’s phone buzzed. A message appeared, short and chilling:

“She’s with me. If you come for her… I’ll make sure he watches everything. And it will only be the beginning.”

Lucian’s hand clenched into a fist so tight it turned white. He didn’t speak. Not yet. But the storm in his eyes was unmistakable.

I was held in a warehouse on the outskirts of the city. It was cold, dark, and silent except for the occasional drip of water echoing across the walls. My hands were still bound, my body aching from the ride, my mind racing.

He sat across from me, calm, patient, studying me like a cat with a mouse. “You’re going to watch him,” he said finally, his voice soft and lethal. “And then you’re going to understand. Everything he did, everything he left behind… it was never for you. It was for me.”

I stared at him, defiance burning despite my fear. “You won’t win.”

He smiled. “I already have. Because fear… fear never loses. And tonight, your father will see exactly what fear can do.”

Days passed—or maybe hours. Time blurred. I lost track of the light outside. Every moment was a test of endurance, every breath a fight against panic. Lucian’s tracking had narrowed in. His fury drove him relentlessly forward, moving with a precision that was frightening to witness even through the feeds.

Finally, the trap was set. My father, reluctantly following Lucian’s plan, became the bait. He recorded a video, a silent witness, every emotion laid bare: fear, guilt, hope, and love. The villain had taken me to see my father’s reactions—to maximize the pain, to make me understand the stakes.

Lucian’s team surrounded the warehouse, silent and deadly, waiting for the right moment. Every angle, every exit, every shadow was under surveillance. The villain believed he was in control. He wasn’t.

When the moment came, the villain realized too late that he had underestimated us. Lucian moved like a storm unleashed, shadows wrapping around him, strikes precise, calculated, lethal.

The villain panicked. He threatened me, tried to bargain, tried to use my father’s presence against us—but Lucian’s fury was unstoppable. He cornered him. Every word the villain spoke was recorded by my father: every confession, every plot, every cruel detail of why he had returned.

And when the villain refused to release me, when he dared to reach for his weapon, it ended.

The shot rang out. Silence followed.

I fell into Lucian’s arms, shaking, gasping for air, the reality of survival, of escape, of vengeance finally sinking in. My father was beside us, relief washing over his face in tears. We were alive. The threat was gone. But the scars—the fear, the pain, the knowledge of what had almost happened—would linger.

Lucian held me close, whispering over and over, “You’re safe. You’re safe. I swear, you’re safe.”

“Dad…” I whispered, finally glancing at my father. He stood a few steps back, hands trembling, eyes wide. Relief and guilt were written across his face. He had been so close to losing me, yet he hadn’t hesitated to stay, to fight, to protect me, even after years of absence.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “It’s over,” I said shakily, though the word felt fragile. “It’s… over.”

“You saved me,” I interrupted gently, placing a hand on his arm. “You stayed. You didn’t run. That’s what matters.”

Lucian stepped forward, his eyes scanning the room, sharp and alert. “He’s dead. The immediate threat is gone. But he had plans, allies, contingencies. We can’t let our guard down yet. Not even for a second.”

I nodded, letting him lead me to a chair. My legs were shaking too much to stand. My father sat across from me, and for the first time in years, we didn’t speak with anger, or resentment, or unspoken accusations. We just breathed together, survivors of a storm that had almost broken us.

Tonight had almost taken me. Tonight had almost shattered us. But we survived. And from the ashes of terror, we would build something unbreakable.