Kidnapping the Billionaire's Heir

"You’re getting married, Georgia. To a billionaire we’ve never even met."

My mother’s voice was smooth, almost too calm, as she swirled the wine in her glass. Across the dining table, my father adjusted his cufflinks, his expression unreadable. The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating, like the expensive perfume my mother always wore.

I blinked, certain I had misheard. “Excuse me?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, laced with disbelief.

My father sighed, setting down his silverware with a soft clink. "It’s all been arranged. A blind wedding. No names, no introductions—just a contract and a ring."

I stared at them, my appetite vanishing. "You’re selling me off to a complete stranger?"

"Don’t be dramatic," my mother chided, dabbing the corner of her lips with a silk napkin. "It’s business, darling. This is what’s best for you. Do you know how much they paid us? It's a hundred mil."

Best for me? A hollow laugh escaped my lips. "You don’t even know who he is!" I pushed back my chair, my heart slamming against my ribs. "What if he’s some psychopath? A m-murderer?"

My father smirked, unfazed. "Then it’s a fair match, isn’t it? Ooh, we knew a lot about illegal things."

A cold chill ran down my spine. I had heard the rumors about my parents—the whispered conversations behind closed doors, the sudden disappearances of people who crossed them. And now, they were trying to lock me into a life sentence with a man who could be worse?

NO. Hell NO!

"You can’t force me," I said through clenched teeth.

"Oh, but we can," my father murmured, taking a sip of his bourbon. "And we will."

That’s when I noticed them—the guards. Lurking by the door, their hands resting on their holsters. My pulse spiked as my mother leaned in, her smile sweet yet venomous.

"Run if you want, darling," she whispered, eyes gleaming. "But we will find you."

The moment I stood, the guards moved.

“Take her to the basement,” my father— Enrico ordered, voice void of any warmth.

My breath caught in my throat. The basement. That meant one thing—captivity. They would keep me there like a prisoner until my wedding day, just to make sure I couldn’t escape.

DAMN!

Panic surged through me as one of the guards lunged. I twisted away, slamming my elbow into his ribs before bolting toward the door. Another grabbed for me, but I stomped on his foot, yanked a knife from his belt, and drove it into his side. He groaned, staggering backward as blood seeped through his uniform.

The other guard barely had time to react before I snatched his gun from his holster and aimed. My hands trembled, but I didn’t hesitate. Bang! The sound of the gunshot echoed through the dining hall. He crumpled to the floor, unmoving.

My mother shrieked, her wine glass shattering against the floor. My father simply sat there, swirling his drink as if this were nothing more than an inconvenience. His cold, dark eyes met mine, filled with something unreadable.

I didn’t wait. I RAN.

Bitch, I can't let them to fucking make me their doll!

The Wilson estate was massive, but I knew its halls like the back of my hand. I sprinted past the grand staircase, through the marble corridors, and straight out into the night. My bare feet pounded against the pavement, the cool wind biting at my skin. I didn’t stop, didn’t look back, even as alarms blared behind me.

I was free.

For weeks, I lived in hiding.

Despite everything, I refused to give up my career. Modeling was all I had ever known, my only escape from the twisted world my parents built. So, I returned—secretly. The magazine I worked for was launching its biggest issue, and I needed to be there.

That morning, the sun was blinding as I stood in front of the camera, dressed in delicate lace and satin. The set was buzzing with energy, the sound of shutters clicking and directors shouting instructions filling the air. For the first time in weeks, I felt normal.

Then, the explosion happened.

The impact sent me flying, my body colliding with the floor as glass and debris rained down. My ears rang, smoke filled my lungs, and the scent of burning fabric made my stomach churn. 

SCREAMS. Panic. Chaos.

 I coughed, struggling to push myself up, my limbs trembling from the shock.

I had to get out.

But before I could move, hands grabbed me. Strong, unfamiliar hands. I thrashed, my vision blurred from the smoke, but something sharp pricked my neck. A cold numbness spread through my veins. My body went limp.

The last thing I saw was the collapsing ceiling before everything faded to black.

Darkness. Silence. A void where time did not exist.

When I finally awoke, my body felt foreign. Heavy. Weak. My eyelids fluttered open, and confusion washed over me as I took in my surroundings. A lavish bedroom. Velvet curtains. A grand chandelier above me. The air smelled of fresh roses and expensive cologne. This wasn’t a hospital. This wasn’t my home.

“H-Hello? Where the hell was I?"

Then I saw leaving nurse. She stopped to glance at me. DANG! I was at a hospital who looks like a fancy room?

Panic gripped me as I forced myself to sit up. My muscles ached, my mind a whirlwind of confusion. How long had I been unconscious? Days? Weeks? I glanced around the room, searching for any sign of familiarity. But there was nothing.

Then, I felt it.

A strange roundness beneath my palm.

My breath hitched. My heart pounded as I threw the blanket aside and stumbled toward the full-length mirror. My hands trembled as I lifted my shirt, revealing my stomach—rounded, fuller, unmistakably pregnant.

No. No, no, no.

A strangled gasp escaped my lips as I staggered back, shaking my head in denial. This can’t be happening.

I pressed my trembling fingers against my abdomen, my mind racing. Four months. I was four months pregnant.

My stomach churned with nausea, but not from morning sickness. I had no memory of this. No recollection of how it happened. My body had been stolen from me. My choices ripped away.

Who did this to me?

And more terrifyingly…

Who was the father of my child?