Chapter One: Kidnapped

I always thought if I ever got kidnapped, it would happen in some dark alley, maybe with muffled screams and a sketchy guy in a ski mask. You know, something dramatic. Something that at least made sense in the way bad things are supposed to happen.

But no. My kidnapping happened on a Wednesday.

At 9:12 p.m.

After I closed up the tiny bookstore I worked at, tucked between a dentist office and an overpriced juice bar, just two blocks from my apartment.

It started with the sound of tires.

I was fumbling with my keys, trying to balance my purse and a cup of cold coffee when a black van rolled up behind me. I didn’t even have time to turn around before I felt a hand clamp down over my mouth and an arm hook around my waist like a vice. My coffee hit the pavement. My keys followed. Then—nothing.

Just darkness.

When I woke up, it wasn’t in a basement or an abandoned warehouse like you'd see in the movies.

No, I woke up in a bed so soft it felt like I’d sunk into a cloud. A very expensive cloud. The ceiling above me was high, painted with gold trim and a chandelier that looked straight out of a palace. The walls were a deep shade of emerald, the curtains velvet, the furniture too sleek and modern to belong in my life.

This wasn’t a prison.

This was a mansion.

A really, really rich one.

I blinked a few times, trying to sit up. My head throbbed, my limbs felt heavy, but nothing was tied or restrained. My boots were gone, and someone had removed my jacket. I was still in my jeans and T-shirt, but somehow I felt… exposed.

I swung my legs over the bed and stood slowly. The floor was cold against my bare feet. I moved toward the tall window, pulling back the curtain just enough to peek out.

Stone walls. Trees. A long driveway. No streetlights. No neighbors.

Wherever I was, it was remote—and getting out on foot would be impossible.

I was still staring when the door creaked open.

I jumped, spinning around.

A man walked in first. Then another. Then another. Then—yep—another.

Four of them.

They moved like shadows, calm and dangerous, their presence immediately sucking the air out of the room. All of them were tall, lean, dressed like they could snap necks before breakfast and then sit down to tea like nothing happened.

The one who led the group had dirty blond hair, slicked back, and piercing ocean-blue eyes that studied me like I was both prey and a puzzle. He wore a dark gray suit with the confidence of someone who knew he never had to raise his voice to get what he wanted.

Behind him was a tattooed guy with a lazy grin and a ring on every finger, like sin wrapped in silk. He looked amused—like he was already bored and I hadn’t even opened my mouth yet.

The third had jet-black hair and sharper angles—clean-cut, all-black outfit, eyes so icy they made me feel like I was standing in a freezer. No emotion, no warmth. Just calculation.

The last one was lounging by the door like he’d wandered in by accident. Curly dark hair, a teasing glint in his eyes, spinning a silver coin between his fingers. He didn’t look dangerous… until he did.

“Morning, sunshine,” the blond one said, his voice smooth and unnervingly calm.

My throat was dry. “Where am I?”

“You’re safe,” he said simply. “For now.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The one with the coin chuckled. “Feisty. I like her already.”

The guy with the tattoos grinned. “You’ll learn to be polite, sweetheart. Eventually.”

“I want to leave,” I said firmly, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “Whatever this is, you’ve got the wrong person.”

“See,” said the one in black, his tone cool and flat, “that’s where you’re mistaken.”

He stepped forward and tossed a thick folder onto the table near the bed. My name was on the front in bold black ink: Aurora Thompson.

No one called me Aurora. Not since I was fifteen.

My stomach dropped.

“Your father owed a debt,” Blondie said, stepping closer. “And when he died, he left that debt to you.”

I stared at him. “My father’s been dead for three years. I haven’t seen him in longer. I don’t know anything about whatever he did.”

“That’s convenient,” the tattooed one said.

“It’s the truth,” I snapped.

The blond one—clearly the leader—tilted his head. “Truth doesn’t matter in our world, Aurora. What matters is blood. And his ran through your veins.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “So, what? You’re going to kill me?”

“If we wanted you dead, you’d already be buried,” the icy one said plainly.

“Then what do you want from me?”

They exchanged a look.

It wasn’t comforting.

“You’re collateral,” the coin-spinning one said. “Until the debt is repaid.”

I laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Collateral? What does that even mean?”

“It means,” the leader said, taking one more step toward me, “you’re going to live here. With us. Under our rules.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then we make you.”

I swallowed hard.

“Let me guess,” I muttered, “this is the part where you say, ‘it’ll be easier if you cooperate.’”

“Exactly,” the tattooed one said, smiling wide. “See? You’re a fast learner.”

I felt like I was going to be sick. This couldn’t be real. This had to be a mistake. I wasn’t part of this world. I worked at a bookstore. I drank oat milk lattes. I couldn’t even kill a spider without crying.

“We’ll give you some time to settle in,” Blondie said, turning toward the door. “You’ll be watched, of course.”

“Don’t get any cute ideas,” the icy one added.

“Though we do like cute ideas,” the coin-spinner said with a wink, before they all filed out like this was just another Tuesday for them.

The door clicked shut.

And I stood there, completely alone, in a room fit for royalty… and built like a cage.

It took everything I had not to fall apart.

Instead, I paced. I looked for exits. I checked the window again—sealed. I tried the door—it locked from the outside. There were cameras in the corners. I counted three.

I was trapped.

But I wouldn’t stay that way.

I didn’t know who these men really were, what they did, or how far they were willing to go. But I knew one thing:

If they thought I’d go down without a fight, they had no idea who they were messing with.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, clutching the folder they’d left behind. My fingers trembled as I opened it. The first photo inside was of me—taken from across the street. Me locking the bookstore. Me walking to my apartment. Me… yesterday.

They’d been watching me for days.

Then I found the letter.

Written in my father’s handwriting.

“If you’re reading this, Rory, it means they’ve found you. And it means I failed to protect you. I’m sorry.”

I didn’t realize I was crying until a tear splashed onto the paper.

And then I saw the last line:

“You’re not who you think you are. Don’t trust any of them.”

A cold chill ran down my spine.

I was still reeling when I heard it—the soft click of the lock turning.

I shot to my feet, wiping my eyes, just as the door creaked open again.

This time, only one of them stood there.

The cold one.

The one with the glacier eyes.

He stared at me in silence for a moment, then stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

And locked it.

From the inside.

“What do you want?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

He took a slow step forward, eyes fixed on mine. “I need to ask you something,” he said quietly.

“What?”

He hesitated. Just for a second.

“Do you remember what happened in Paris?”

I froze.

Paris?

I’d never been to Paris.

At least… I didn’t think I had.

My mouth went dry.

“What are you talking about?” I whispered.

He stepped closer, expression unreadable.

“Because, Aurora,” he said softly, “we have proof you were there—and you weren’t alone.”