A Terrifying Twist of Fate

Amelia's POV

The gentle hum of domesticity floated through the air as my mother's voice mingled with the sound of dishes being washed. It was a serene backdrop to a conversation that was anything but tranquil.

"Amelia, my dear, now that you're done with school, have you given any thought to your plans for the future? Uncle Joseph suggests that pursuing higher studies at a reputable university would be a wise choice," my mother ventured, her eyes focused on the task at hand.

With determination lacing my words, I replied, "Mom, you know my heart lies in baking. I want to open my bakery. You're well aware of my passion for it. Attending a university might not align with that dream. I'd rather take on part-time jobs and save up to make my bakery a reality. It's a dream that means the world to me."

Her response, though expected, held a hint of concern. "You could always approach your father for startup capital, my dear. He's always willing to support you, being his only daughter and all."

A slight hesitation colored my words, as I confided, "But, Mom, asking him for such a significant sum makes me a bit apprehensive."

Concern etched on her features, she reassured me, "Don't worry, my pumpkin. I'll discuss it with him. I'm certain he'll understand the importance of your dreams."

Our conversation shifted, and her curiosity pricked at a particular topic. "Speaking of which, Jon mentioned that you're going out with Mark tonight. Is there something special you're not telling me?"

My carefully crafted lie slipped from my lips as I responded, "Oh, no, Mom. Nothing special. Just a treat he's giving me, that's all."

Catching the time, her tone grew stern. "Time's flying, Amelia. It's already 5:30 p.m. Get ready; you don't want to keep him waiting."

Her admonishment spurred me into action. Rushing to my room, I realized the ticking clock, my heart racing in tandem with its beats. Approaching 7 p.m., I decided to take one final glance at my reflection before joining the evening's rendezvous.

Studying myself in the mirror, I observed the result of my preparations. The Off-Shoulder Drawstring-Side Mini Bodycon black dress, classic and elegant, showcased my shoulders. Complemented by rose gold stiletto heels, the ensemble was completed with the necklace Mark had thoughtfully gifted me. It aligned seamlessly with the outfit's charm. My preference for minimal makeup remained consistent, and I let my waist-length brown hair cascade freely down my back. With purse in hand, I descended the staircase, anticipation coursing through my veins.

As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door, confirming my expectation that Mark had arrived. With a mix of excitement and a hint of nervousness, I opened the door to be met by his handsome hazel eyes and an undeniable charm.

A throat cleared behind me, and I turned to see Jonathan, my elder brother, present as a silent observer. Mark's affable greeting and their bro-like exchange took me aback, but Jon's quiet request for a private chat made me curious.

"Hey, cutie pie, you look gorgeous. Jonathan, how are you, man?" Mark's warmth enveloped the room.

"I'm fine. Amelia, can you give us a minute? We need to talk," Jon interjected, his tone devoid of emotion.

I exited the scene to retrieve my forgotten phone, curious and a bit concerned about their conversation.

Upon my return, a heartwarming sight awaited me. Mark and Jonathan, my brother, were engrossed in laughter and lively conversation. It was reassuring to see them bonding so effortlessly. Mark's presence had always been a soothing and reassuring one.

"Amelia, ready?" Mark's question tugged me back into the moment. I nodded with excitement, confirming that I was indeed prepared for the evening's plans.

Exiting the house, the open air and the sight before me immediately caught my attention. A pristine white car adorned the scene. I couldn't help but react with widened eyes.

"Is this yours, Mark?" I inquired, a mixture of awe and surprise in my voice.

Mark's smile held a hint of pride as he clarified, "Actually, it's my dad's. He acquired it a few weeks ago. I asked for permission to take it out, and he agreed."

As he held open the passenger door, a gesture of chivalry that warmed my heart, I slid inside. Mark settled into the driver's seat, exuding confidence. The car's interior was as impeccable as its exterior, reflecting a world of luxury.

As we embarked on our journey, I couldn't help but inquire playfully, "So, Mr. Wooton, where are you taking me on this mysterious adventure?"

His grin matched my playful tone, and he responded cheekily, "Oh, cutie pie, that's a surprise I wouldn't want to spoil."

His compliment, offered with genuine appreciation, set a warm blush on my cheeks. "Thank you," I replied, my voice carrying a hint of bashfulness. "You're not looking too shabby yourself," I added with a wink, playfully pinching his cheek.

Mark's laughter filled the car, and for the moment, any lingering worries or doubts were swept away by the genuine connection we shared. Little did I know, this carefree evening would soon be eclipsed by an unforeseen turn of events that would thrust me into a world I could never have imagined.

During our journey, laughter and conversation flowed effortlessly. The destination he had chosen for us wasn't a grand restaurant but a more magical location, where sky lanterns illuminated the night sky in a breathtaking display. The shared experience of lighting a lantern and making a wish was an enchanting prelude to our night.

As the lanterns danced into the heavens, I felt his gaze on me, his eyes gleaming with a sincerity that warmed my heart. His lips met mine in a sweet kiss, marking the beginning of a new chapter in our evening.

The lure of a nearby restaurant led us to dinner, a meal accompanied by lively chatter and shared laughter. My need for the restroom prompted a brief departure, a decision that would unknowingly alter the course of our night.

In the restroom, I faced an unexpected threat. A cloth was pressed against my nose, darkness enveloped me, and I fought against the intrusion. Despite my struggle, my strength faltered, and consciousness slipped away.

***************************************

My head throbbed as I struggled to regain consciousness. The softness beneath me was a stark contrast to the turmoil that churned within. Gradually, my eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the light that seemed to tap gently on my face. The room's expanse was undeniable; it was larger and grander than any space I'd ever known. The walls, a textured grey, spoke of opulence and excess. The reality settled in—I had been kidnapped.

Just then, the door to the room swung open, revealing a man dressed in a blue suit. As he stepped into the room, a flash of recognition coursed through me. It was the same man from that unsettling collision a few days ago. My heart raced; fear rippled through every fiber of my being.

"Angel, you're awake," he spoke, his voice smoother than I expected. "You were out for more than 10 hours."

My attempt to form words was stifled by the intensity of my fear. This man, who referred to me as "angel," was holding me captive. The mere thought of being ensnared in this situation was overwhelming. I couldn't quell my panic; my heart pounded as though trying to escape my chest.

In response to my visible distress, he attempted to offer reassurance, his lips curling into a smile. "Don't be scared of me, angel. I won't hurt you."

"Why... am... I... here?" I managed to stammer, my voice betraying my nervousness. My thoughts raced, and I found myself inquiring about Mark's whereabouts, grasping for any shred of familiarity in this unnerving scenario.

His demeanor shifted; his eyes darkened, and a sinister smirk graced his lips. "I brought you to my house. Now I'm never letting you go. That jerk is maybe somewhere searching for you. But you know what? I don't care. Because now you are mine."

My heart froze. The reality of his words sent shivers down my spine. This man, Gabriel Hamilton, was not just a mere eccentricity or obsession—he was dangerous, unhinged, and undoubtedly a threat to my well-being.

Summoning the remnants of my courage, I faced his gaze and declared, "You don't have the right to kidnap me. Being a billionaire doesn't grant you the power to do whatever you want. I'm going to report you to the police, you psychopath."

His response was a display of his anger—jaws clenched, eyes piercing mine with an intensity that sent tremors down my spine. "Listen, you little one," his voice thundered, "don't fucking raise your voice at me, or else I'm gonna hurt you."

I was trembling now, torn between fear and a desperate desire for escape. A fleeting thought struck me—I could make a run for it. But as if anticipating my move, he seized me in a swift motion, his grip unyielding as he swung me around to face him.

He regarded me with a chilling smile, asserting, "It's futile to run. My guards are downstairs, and if you try to escape, they'll shoot you."

The reality of my situation crashed down upon me, extinguishing any glimmer of hope. I found myself forced to surrender to this chilling reality. Instinctively, I let the tears flow, playing the part of the vulnerable victim.

"Please, Mr. Hamilton, let me go. My family is worried sick about me. Mark must be out there searching for me like a madman. I promise I won't tell anyone, not even the police," I pleaded, the desperation evident in my voice.

In response, a sharp sting radiated across my cheek—a resounding slap. Shocked and stung, my hand instinctively moved to the sore spot, while my teary gaze met his.

He spoke, his tone harsh, "I don't relish being aggressive, but you're leaving me with no choice. If you don't want to be hurt, shut the fuck up and do what I say."

I nodded, fear gripping me. I could sense the inevitability of my situation sinking in.

His demeanor shifted once more, his touch gentle as he caressed my cheek—the same cheek he had just slapped. "That's my angel," he remarked, almost with a sense of possession.

He issued his orders: "Forget about that jerk Mark or whatever his name is. You are only mine now. Come downstairs in ten minutes for breakfast. There are clothes for you in the closet. Change and come downstairs. Don't even think about escaping—consequences won't be pleasant."

With those chilling words, he left me alone in the room, closing the door behind him. As I sat on the bed, tears flowed freely down my cheeks. I was trapped, at the mercy of a man whose intentions were anything but benign. My pleas for escape were met with a reality that grew more harrowing by the moment. "What have I gotten myself into? God, please save me from this monster. I just want to go home. Everyone must be frantic with worry." My voice trembled in the confines of the room, my despair echoing against its opulent walls.