Kidnapping the Mafia Prince's Heiress!

I woke up to the soft rustling of sheets, my fingers instinctively reaching out, only to grasp the emptiness beside me. Bryant was gone.

In his place stood Nurse Angela, her warm eyes filled with something I couldn't quite decipher. Pity? Concern? I pushed myself up, my voice rasping from disuse. "Where is he?"

She hesitated before shaking her head. "I don’t know."

Something about her expression told me she was lying, but I didn’t press. Maybe I was too drained, too disoriented to care.

Days passed, and I was discharged from the hospital. But instead of returning to the vast halls of the mansion, Bryant had me locked in the basement. It was dark, damp, and windowless, the silence broken only by the occasional footsteps of the guards outside.

At first, I thought I’d be left to rot there, but then Angela started visiting me. She came in secret, always checking over her shoulder before slipping inside with a tray of food or a blanket. She was the only person who spoke to me, the only one who treated me like a human being.

One night, as she placed a cup of tea in front of me, her voice dropped to a whisper. "I have a way to get you out."

I stared at her, stunned.

"I took the keys from one of the guards," she explained. "I... I seduced him and slipped something in his drink."

I swallowed hard. "Angela, if Bryant finds out—"

"He won’t," she interrupted. "But we don’t have much time. You need to go now."

Without another word, she unlocked my cuffs and led me up a narrow stairway. My heart pounded as we reached the main floor. Every shadow, every creak of the wooden panels, sent chills down my spine.

We snuck through the hallways, avoiding the guards stationed by the entrance. Angela had studied their shifts, knew exactly when they’d step away for a break. When we reached the back gate, she pointed toward the tall, steel fence.

"Climb over it," she urged.

I hesitated for only a second before gripping the cold metal and hauling myself up. The sharp edges of the fence cut into my palms, but I ignored the pain. When I landed on the other side, I turned back to her.

"Thank you," I whispered.

She smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes. "Run."

And I did.

The night swallowed me whole as I sprinted toward the dense forest behind the mansion. Twigs snapped under my feet, branches scraped my arms, but I kept going. The air smelled of damp earth and pine, the darkness pressing in from all sides.

Then I hit a dead end.

A steep cliff stretched out before me, its jagged rocks disappearing into the abyss below. My breath came in ragged gasps as I spun around, searching for another way out. But there was none.

Panic clawed at my throat.

I needed to hide.

Spotting a small cave nestled within the cliffside, I hurried inside. The space was tight, barely big enough to crouch in. The damp walls pressed against my back as I tried to steady my breathing.

Then I heard it.

A hiss.

My body stiffened as I turned my head slowly. My stomach twisted when I saw the dark, coiling figure beside me. A snake.

A scream ripped from my throat, and before I could stop myself, I bolted out of the cave.

And that was my mistake.

A shadow loomed over me.

I barely had time to react before a hand tangled in my hair, yanking me backward. I gasped, pain exploding through my scalp as I was forced onto the damp grass.

Bryant towered over me, his eyes burning with fury and something else. Something darker.

"You really thought you could run from me?" he sneered, pinning me beneath his weight. His grip tightened, fingers digging into my wrists as his breath fanned over my face.

But his voice... it was a bit different. Even his stance was.

I struggled, but he was too strong.

"You're mine," he growled, pressing his lips to my neck. "And I'll make sure you never forget it."

Tears burned my eyes as I thrashed beneath him, but it was useless. My strength was nothing compared to his. I wanted to scream, but my voice caught in my throat.

Then—

A gunshot.

Bryant's body jerked, his eyes widening in shock before blood bloomed across his chest.

His grip slackened.

I shoved him off me, my hands trembling as I scrambled away. My gaze darted toward the source of the shot.

A man stood a few feet away, a gun still raised in his hand. His dark eyes met mine, unreadable, unwavering.

He stepped closer, lowering his weapon. "Are you alright?"

I could barely nod. My mind was reeling, my body still shaking from the adrenaline.

The stranger knelt beside Bryant’s motionless body and pressed two fingers against his throat. Then he exhaled sharply. "He’s dead."

I stared at him, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. "Who are you?"

"Armani Hector," he said simply. "Angela’s brother."

Angela.

I clutched my chest, relief and confusion washing over me in equal measure. "She sent you?"

He nodded. "She begged me to save you. And now, we need to get out of here before his men find us."

I didn't argue.

Armani led me through the forest, his movements swift and calculated. He knew exactly where to go, avoiding every possible patrol until we reached an abandoned road. A black car was waiting for us.

For weeks, I stayed hidden in his apartment, recovering from everything I had endured. Armani provided me with new clothes, food, and—most importantly—safety.

One day, as I was staring out the window, he finally spoke the words that shattered my fragile sense of peace.

"Angela’s dead."

I spun to face him, my stomach plummeting. "No... no, she—"

"Bryant found out she helped you escape," he said grimly. "He had her shot."

Tears blurred my vision. I clutched the windowsill, my chest tightening with grief. Angela... the only person who had truly cared for me... was gone.

But before I could fully process the loss, Armani turned on the television. My blood ran cold.

Bryant was on the screen.

Alive.

He was giving an interview, his expression solemn as he spoke to the reporters.

"My wife has been kidnapped," he announced. "And I am offering a large reward to anyone who finds her."

I staggered back, shaking my head. "That’s... impossible. I saw him die. You shot him."

Armani’s jaw clenched.

"Then tell me," he said darkly, his voice laced with something ominous. "Why does the man I shot have no scars? No bullet wound?"

My breath hitched.

And then—

The realization struck me like a lightning bolt.

It wasn’t Bryant who had died.

It was his twin.