Fury Unbound

Alexander’s POV

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The mansion had never been this silent.

Not truly silent. Not after an ambush. Not after Isabella had been taken from my arms.

Now, each footstep echoed like thunder. Every creak of the floorboards screamed betrayal. I moved with a predator’s grace, gun raised, eyes darting to every shadow, every corner.

Isabella.

The thought alone burned hotter than fire. My hands ached—not from wounds, but from rage, from helplessness, from the searing realization that someone had dared take her from my fortress. My safe room.

Safe.

Safe my ass.

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I barked orders to my men, who followed silently behind me, weapons drawn. Matteo’s face was pale, but steady. The others mirrored my tension, all knowing the stakes. Anyone who had harmed Isabella would pay.

Blood would answer blood.

“Split the mansion. Every room. Every hall. No one gets left behind. Bring her to me. Alive.” My voice was steel. Cold. Merciless.

The echo of my command lingered in the high ceilings, bouncing back to me like the cries of the guilty.

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I reached the hall outside the safe room. The door was ripped open. Evidence of struggle littered the marble floor—shards of wood, fabric, scratches in the stone. My hands clenched, tracing the path they had taken. Whoever had taken her had planned this. Every detail of her capture was deliberate, a calculated nightmare.

I followed the trail like a wolf, senses sharpened by rage. Every shadow could hide a threat. Every sound could be her. My world narrowed to a single point: Isabella.

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Outside, the gardens were eerily calm, bathed in pale moonlight. But I knew better. The attackers weren’t gone.

“Positions,” I ordered, my voice low and lethal. “Cover the east lawn. No one escapes.”

The air was thick with anticipation, each breath heavy. I could feel the pulse of the mansion, the heartbeat of my men, the echo of her fear, and it drove me forward.

Then I saw it—movement. A shadow slipping along the tree line, fast, purposeful.

“Matteo!” I hissed. “That way! Now!”

We moved like shadows themselves, hunting, silent, unstoppable.

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The shadow broke into the open. Two attackers, faces masked, rifles raised. I didn’t hesitate.

One went down in a single shot. The other twisted, firing blindly, but my men flanked him.

I grabbed him by the collar, slamming him against a tree. His hood fell back.

The bastard smirked. “You’re too late.”

I froze, chest tightening. His words weren’t a threat—they were a promise.

“Where is she?” I growled, voice low and dangerous.

He laughed, a hollow, cruel sound. “She’s closer than you think… and farther than you’ll ever reach in time.”

I slammed my fist into his jaw. Bones cracked. Blood spattered my gloves. “You will die for that answer.”

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Hours—or maybe minutes—passed as I tore through the grounds. Every hidden path, every hedge, every shadow was searched. But she was gone. My fury was all-consuming now, scorching every rational thought.

I felt her absence like a physical weight, pressing down, twisting my stomach. And in that moment, I realized just how much I had let myself rely on her presence, her safety.

I wouldn’t forgive that mistake again.

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Back inside, the mansion was a maze of betrayal. Doors unlocked, secret passages exposed. Someone had guided the attackers through, showing them every weak point.

Someone inside.

The thought sent a pulse of ice down my spine. I had trusted every single person in this house. Every man and woman who called themselves mine. Now, every glance seemed suspicious. Every shadow could be a traitor.

I stopped in the grand hall, fist pounding against the marble. Matteo came up behind me, wary.

“Sir…” he started.

“Do not speak.” My voice was sharp as a blade. “I will find her. And the person who helped them… I will tear them apart slowly.”

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I moved toward the study, where Isabella’s personal items were kept. Papers were scattered, her personal effects disturbed. Whoever had taken her had wanted to leave a trace of torment—a reminder that she had been here, and now she was gone.

I picked up a small, delicate scarf, still faintly scented with her perfume. My hands clenched. The sight of it sent a wave of helplessness crashing over me.

But I swallowed it down. Rage replaced despair. Fear became weaponized.

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I needed a plan.

Not just force. Not just brute strength. Strategy.

I ordered my men to sweep the nearby roads, block exits, and check every known safe house. Surveillance footage from nearby cameras was pulled up, every frame scrutinized. Whoever had done this underestimated me. Whoever had planned it thought they could outrun the storm.

They were wrong.

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And then I found it.

A black card, slipped under the door of the study. No words. No name. Just an emblem—familiar, dangerous.

It was a challenge. A taunt.

I felt my chest tighten. My hands shook, not with fear, but with anticipation of the blood I would spill.

“This ends tonight,” I whispered.

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Outside again, the hunt continued. Shadows moved through the trees, figures darting between moonlight and darkness. I chased, silent, relentless. My men flanked, firing whenever necessary, but my focus was narrow. One target. One goal.

Isabella.

Every step, every heartbeat, was fueled by rage and desperation. The world itself seemed to bend around me, marking my path in fire and blood.

The night air was sharp, whipping through my hair, carrying the distant sounds of struggle. I slowed for a heartbeat, listening. Footsteps? A muffled cry?

My pulse quickened. She was near. I could feel it.

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And then—the first trace.

A scarf, torn and hanging from a branch. Her scent still clung to it.

I snatched it up. Blood pounded in my ears. She was alive. She had to be alive.

I followed the trail into a hidden passage beneath the hedge maze. The moonlight caught the glint of a knife on the ground, her hair caught in the thorned bushes.

Someone had been careless. Someone had left signs.

And I would use them.

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The trail led to a small, abandoned carriage house. The door was ajar, shadows moving within.

I drew my gun. Hand on the latch, eyes narrowed. My men flanked silently.

“On my signal,” I whispered. “We move together.”

The door creaked. A muffled sob. My heart leapt.

“Isabella!” I growled.

A figure stepped forward. Masked. Bound.

It wasn’t her.

And then the door behind me slammed shut.

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The sound echoed through the night. My men shouted. I slammed my fist against the door. Locked.

My blood boiled. Rage sharpened my focus. Whoever had done this was daring me—challenging me—to fail.

I would not fail.

I would burn the world to find her.

I could feel her fear. And it ignited something darker than fury—a dark, meticulous, unstoppable resolve.

Every shadow would be hunted. Every whisper tracked. Every trace of betrayal erased in fire.

The night was mine.

But so was the darkness.

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🔥 Cliffhanger

Alexander reaches the carriage house, Isabella still missing, and realizes the kidnapper is inside with a new twist—the trap may involve someone he trusted deeply.