Kidnapping the Mafia Prince's Heiress!

Days blurred together.

I stopped counting them.

At first, I fought. I screamed. I clawed at the locked doors, threw things, refused to eat. But nothing changed. The only thing that greeted me every morning was the suffocating luxury of this bedroom—if I could even call it that. It was more of a gilded cage.

The four walls were draped in silk curtains, a chandelier casting golden light over the space. The bed was massive, covered in thick, expensive sheets that still smelled like Bryant. I hated it. I hated that I was stuck here.

Bryant barely visited. He only came to check if I was still breathing, smirking when he saw me curled up in the same spot. "You’ll get tired of resisting, love," he’d say before leaving again.

And maybe he was right.

Weeks passed before something changed.

One morning, the door creaked open. I expected another one of his staff bringing food, but instead, I saw him.

Bryant leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, eyes scanning me with an amused look. “You’re finally calm,” he noted.

I didn’t reply. I just stared at him, my hatred simmering beneath my skin.

“Come.” He gestured for me to follow.

For the first time since I woke up here, I was allowed outside the room.

I hesitated. This had to be a trap. But staying locked inside was worse, so I forced myself to stand. My legs were weak from weeks of inactivity, but I followed him through the long hallway.

And that’s when I saw it.

A mansion.

Not just any mansion—this was huge. Crystal chandeliers, marble floors, gold-plated stair railings. The air smelled of expensive perfume and freshly polished wood.

My stomach twisted. This didn’t make sense. The Bryant I knew—he came from a decent family, but he was never this wealthy.

“Where did you get the money for this?” I asked, my voice sharp.

He smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Grandpa’s gift,” he said. “Mr. Dawson transferred the property to me. A reward for my success.”

Success?

I narrowed my eyes. “What success?”

His smirk deepened. “Fulfilling his wish, of course.”

Something in his voice made my skin crawl.

I shook my head. “What wish?”

Bryant’s gaze dropped to my stomach. He didn’t say a word.

My stomach dropped.

No. No, no, no.

I took a step back. “You mean—”

His smirk widened. “You’re carrying the heir, love.”

A chill ran down my spine. My fingers curled into fists.

This was why. This was why he had taken me. Why he had done this to me. It wasn’t about me—it was about the child.

I was nothing more than a surrogate.

I felt sick. I turned and ran back to the room, slamming the door shut behind me. My breath came in sharp gasps. I clutched my stomach, as if that would erase what was inside me.

This can’t be happening.

I needed to get rid of it.

The next few days were a blur. Bryant started treating me differently. Nurses arrived—Angela, the main one, was always by my side, checking my vitals, making sure I ate. Bryant acted like he cared, but I knew better.

One afternoon, Angela handed me a small pregnancy test. “Just to confirm, Miss Geoffanie,” she said with a soft smile.

I already knew the answer. But still, I locked myself in the bathroom and took the test.

Minutes passed.

I stared at the two pink lines.

Pregnant.

Tears slipped down my cheeks. I bit my lip to keep from screaming.

This was his child.

I needed to end this.

That night, I made my decision.

I waited until the mansion was quiet. I crept into the bathroom, trembling hands reaching for the small stash of pills I had secretly hidden.

One swallow. That was all it would take.

But before I could, the door burst open.

Bryant.

His eyes flicked to the pills in my hand. The room exploded.

The next thing I knew, the pills were slapped from my grasp. My back hit the wall as he grabbed my wrists, his face contorted with fury.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he growled.

Tears streamed down my face. “Getting rid of your disgusting spawn!”

His grip tightened. “You think I’ll let you? You think I’ll let you take away the one thing securing my legacy?”

I choked back a sob. “You’re a monster.”

His jaw clenched. “Maybe. But you? You’re mine. And so is that child.”

His words sent ice through my veins

That’s when he finally admitted it.

“The baby is the key,” he said coldly. “Once it’s born, Mr. Dawson’s fortune becomes fully mine.”

My stomach twisted in disgust.

Of course. This wasn’t about love. It wasn’t even about me.

It was about power.

I shoved at him, but he didn’t budge. His grip remained firm, his expression unreadable. “Get used to it, love,” he whispered before letting me go.

I collapsed onto the floor. He left without another word.

I curled into myself, sobs wracking my body.

I had to escape.

I tried. Again and again.

I used everything I had learned from my years as a dispatcher—tracking movements, memorizing schedules, studying security patterns.

But Bryant was always one step ahead.

Every time I made it close to the gates, someone stopped me.

Every time I tried contacting the outside world, the phone line was cut.

Every time I thought I was free, I was dragged back.

Weeks passed. My belly started to show. The weight of my reality became heavier. I was trapped.

Then, one morning—I woke up to something different.

A large box sat beside my bed.

Frowning, I reached for it, my fingers trembling as I lifted the lid.

Inside was a wedding gown.

Beautiful. Elegant. White lace and silk, delicately folded.

I sucked in a breath. My pulse pounded in my ears.

There was a note.

I unfolded it, my hands shaking.

"Ready for the wedding?"