Elara’s POV
“I’ll take Sierra.”
His voice echoed through the warehouse like a blade.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t flinch.
But inside, I shattered.
My ears buzzed. My breath thinned.
Across from me, Sierra sobbed. “Thorne! Thorne, thank you, I knew it! I knew you’d come for me!”
I stared at her through the haze.
The masked man ended the call as they went outside.
The rope around my wrists had gone numb.
I couldn’t feel my hands anymore. I couldn’t feel much of anything.
Across from me, Sierra sat slumped in a chair. Her knees were scraped. Her arms, bound like mine. Her expression was dazed. Like she was still trying to convince herself this wasn’t real.
Neither of us spoke.
There was no one to beg.
No one listening.
Only the sound of footsteps outside the door, growing louder.
Two men entered again. Black jackets. Masks. One carried a length of rope. The other carried the phone.
“She’s no use,” the first one said, jerking his chin at me. “This is the wife, right?”
The other nodded. “That’s what the intel said.”
“Dump her.”
The words didn’t register right away.
Then Sierra flinched. “Wait–what do you mean, dump her?”
“She’s a dead end,” the first man muttered. “The Ashford guy doesn’t want her. She picked you. Let the water have her.”
The rope hit the floor with a heavy thud. They untied my legs.
One of them grabbed my arm and hauled me to my feet.
Panic didn’t come like a scream. It came like ice. Quiet. Immediate. Final.
I didn’t fight. I couldn’t.
They dragged me toward the door.
“Wait,” Sierra said, her voice thin. “Wait, please, don’t—”
She sounded scared. Not for me but for herself. Like she knew that once I was gone, her turn would come.
The door groaned open.
A corridor. A second metal door at the end. I could hear water through it.
Then the phone rang. The one in the second man’s pocket.
He stopped. Swore.
“Who the hell—?”
He picked up.
“Yeah.”
A pause. His body went still.
Then, he went quiet.
“What? Are you sure?”
The man turned to glance back at me.
Then louder, “She’s not the maid’s daughter?”
My heart stalled.
He stepped away from me, holding the phone closer to his ear.
“You’re saying the one we’re about to dump is the real Vance heir?”
Silence.
Then a long, hard curse.
He ended the call.
“New orders,” he muttered.
The other man frowned. “What?”
“No more games. We keep her alive.”
He pointed at me.
“This one’s not the decoy. She’s the one they want.”
“But Thorne—”
“Thorne picked the wrong girl. Doesn’t matter anymore. We’ll ransom the real Vance for a bigger value.”
—
I woke up gasping.
The room was warm again.
No rope.
No concrete floor.
Just silk sheets and the soft morning light creeping through the window.
I lay still for a moment, chest heaving.
A dream.
It was just a dream.
But my heart… still believed every second of it.
And those words echoed louder than anything.
They haunted me.
Then, a soft knock on the door broke my trance.
“Elara?” Aiden’s voice.
I cleared my throat as I sat up. “Come in.”
He opened the door, dressed in soft gray slacks and a black t-shirt. His hair was still damp from a shower.
“You’re awake,” he said.
“Barely.”
He paused. “Nightmare?”
I nodded once. “Yeah.”
He didn’t ask more.
He stepped in, setting a tray on the nightstand. A toast, tea, fruit, and a small bowl of something warm.
“I didn’t know what you liked anymore,” he said.
I offered a small smile. “Anything warm is fine.”
I reached for the tea, wrapping my fingers around the mug like it was the only solid thing in the world.
He sat on the edge of a reading chair, giving me space. “You look better today.”
“Better than what?”
“Better than soaked, freezing, and barely breathing.”
I gave a dry laugh. “That’s a low bar.”
He tilted his head, watching me for a second. “You dream about what happened last night?”
I hesitated.
“Sort of.”
I didn’t know how to tell him the worst part wasn’t being kidnapped in the dream.
It was the words.
The shift.
The choice.
His voice.
“I’ll take Sierra.”
Even in my dreams…
He chose her.
“I keep thinking I imagined it,” I murmured, not meeting his eyes. “But it felt real. Too real.”
Aiden leaned back slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t know what you’ve been through these past few years. But… if dreams are giving you answers, maybe your mind’s already asking the questions.”
I sipped the tea. “You sound like a therapist.”
“I’ve been accused of worse.”
I smiled for real that time. Small. Fragile. But real.
For a few seconds, the silence between us wasn’t heavy. Just still.
Then my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
A message.
Mrs. Vance: Family dinner tonight. Come with Thorne. There will be announcements. Wear something presentable.
The tea soured in my mouth.
Aiden watched my face shift. “Something wrong?”
I looked up slowly.
“She wants me to go to dinner with Thorne,” I said.
“And?”
“She said they have… announcements.”
