Not Missing… Taken

Damien’s POV

I didn’t move.

Not an inch.

I stood there—shoulders stiff, hands in my pockets, every muscle strung tight beneath my tailored suit—watching the man cross the street.

The flyer in his hand trembled in the breeze, but his grip didn’t waver. He was young. Too clean-cut to be anything but trouble. Eyes bloodshot, hair disheveled, clothes wrinkled like he’d slept in them—and probably had.

But the most dangerous thing about him wasn’t the way he looked.

It was the look in his eyes.

Hope.

Raw. Stubborn. Stupid.

“Hey!” the man called, picking up speed. “Hey—hey you!”

My mouth twitched, but not into a smile.

I turned—just slightly—letting the man reach me.

“Hey—hey, excuse me!” the man called again, holding the flyer like a lifeline. His chest heaved with the effort of running, desperation scrawled across his face. “Have you… have you seen her?”

My eyes flicked once to the photo. My pulse didn’t change, but something in my gaze darkened.

The man shoved the paper closer, hope flaring in his voice. “This is Bella, my girlfriend. She’s been missing for days. She never made it to her parents’ house—no one’s heard from her. I—I didn’t want her family to panic so I’ve been trying to look for her myself. I just—” he swallowed hard, voice cracking, “—I just want to know if she’s okay.”

This… man is her boyfriend?

I tilted my head, cold curiosity settling over his features. “And why would you think I’ve seen her?”

“I don’t know,” the man said breathlessly. “You’re the first person who didn’t brush me off. You look like someone who notices things. She means the world to me, man. If you’ve seen her—or if you hear anything—there’s a reward.”

That piqued my interest, if only slightly. One brow arched, slow and mocking.

“A reward,” I repeated.

The man nodded quickly, hopeful. “Twenty-five thousand. No questions asked.”

My mouth twisted into a cold smile, like I had just heard the punchline of a cruel joke.

“Twenty-five thousand,” I echoed again, this time with disdain dripping from every syllable. I took a step forward, crowding the man’s space with suffocating calm.

“That’s what she’s worth to you?”

The man blinked, thrown off. “I—I don’t understand.”

I leaned in, voice low and sharp as a scalpel. “You’re searching for the woman you claim means the world to you, and the price you put on her life is twenty-five fucking thousand?”

The man’s jaw tensed, confused. “That’s not what I meant. I just thought—maybe the money would help—”

“What’s your name again?” I asked suddenly, cutting him off.

“Umm… Andrew,” he replied, looking around awkwardly.

“Listen to me, Andrew. A man who sets a price for his woman,” I said icily, “isn’t a man. He’s a coward looking for convenience. You think she’s lost. I think she finally escaped.”

Andrew recoiled like he’d been slapped. “That’s not true.”

I straightened, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve with bored elegance. “If she were mine,” I said, voice like frostbite, “no one would have to wonder where she was. In fact, she would never be reported missing. Ever. Because I would have her chained to my side for the rest of her life.”

Andrew looked stunned. “Wait—do you know her? Do you know my Bella?”

My smile vanished. “I don’t answer to strangers with flyers and weak hearts.”

I turned on my heel, already walking toward the bistro’s private entrance, my back cutting the conversation off like a blade.

Andrew stood there, the flier wilting in his hands, unsure whether he’d just been warned or dismissed—or both.

Inside the restaurant, I stepped into the cool, candlelit hush of the reserved room. But my thoughts were burning.

I sat at the table like nothing in the world was wrong.

But deep inside, a storm was brewing. One that no reward could quiet.

Isabella wasn’t missing.

She was exactly where she belonged.

With me.

And no puppy-eyed deranged lover or stack of cash was going to change that.

Ever.

---

The mayor entered with the usual parade of handlers and polished smiles, shaking hands and making small talk as the staff ushered him into the private dining room.

I rose politely, offering the bare minimum of a greeting—words like silk draped over steel—but anyone who knew me well could tell my mind was elsewhere.

The room filled quickly with chatter about development permits, donor obligations, and a gala planned for the following month. I nodded in all the right places, added a comment or two when needed, but my gaze kept drifting—to the window, to the clock, to the phone resting like a loaded weapon at the edge of the table.

I need to see her.

I need to hear her voice. And for every second I waited, it was driving me mad.

“Excuse me a moment,” I said, suddenly rising with perfect composure.

The mayor paused mid-sentence, blinking. “Everything alright?”

“Just need to check on something at the estate,” I replied with a slight smile. “Please, continue.”

Once outside, I walked quickly into the corridor and pulled out my phone, dialing the direct line to the estate’s lower quarters.

It rang once.

“Hello?” came the tight voice of my kitchen maid—Lina.

“It’s me,” Damien said, voice dropping into its natural, smooth gravity. “How’s my fiancée?”

“Oh! She’s… she’s fine, Mr. Voss,” Lina stammered. “She’s been real quiet. Watched a little TV after lunch. I brought her some tea, but she said she was just going to nap again.”

My expression softened, but my tone sharpened slightly. “Did she say anything else?”

“No, sir. Just thanked me, that’s all.”

“Pass the phone to her.”

There was a pause. Then footsteps. A knock. Muffled voices.

Another pause.

Then… “Hello?”

Her voice. Sleep-tinged. Cautious. Curious.

“Ariana,” I said carefully. “How are you feeling?”

A beat.

“…I’m okay,” she said warily. “Just bored because a certain someone had me locked up.”

“Your father didn’t leave me any other option,” I murmured, walking to the window like I might see her from miles away. “You should rest. I’ll see you when I get back.”

She didn’t respond immediately. I could hear her breathing—uneven, unsure.

“I’m heading back home after this meeting,” he continued, softer now, coaxing. “Is there anything you want? Anything I can bring you?”

There was silence for a moment, then. “I only want the things I asked for in the morning.”

“You’re allowed to ask me for something more,” I said, almost hurt. “You could say chocolate, diamond jewels, a book—anything. And I’d get it. I’d get you ten.”

“I just want to go home,” she said, voice quieter.

I closed my eyes, jaw tight. “You are home, Ariana.”

She said nothing.

I smiled faintly, even though it didn’t reach my eyes. “Maybe a movie later, hmm? I’ll sit with you. You pick. We can order in dessert. I want to see you laugh again. That sound…”

I didn’t finish the thought. I didn’t want to tell her about that night just yet. Instead, I just exhaled like it had taken something out of me.

“Rest. I’ll be there soon.”

Before she could respond, I hung up, staring down at the screen for a long moment.

The meeting was waiting, but I felt no urgency to return.

Because there, in the quiet between her breaths, was the ache I couldn’t cure.

She hadn’t begged for me to let her go. She hadn’t cried for her freedom.

But she still spoke like a prisoner.

And that was what tormented me the most.