r Smit

he Smith family fortune, a name synonymous with old money and refined taste. I was an only child, cherished, doted upon, never wanting for anything. Our spr

fort. I was beautiful, talented, and engaged to Derek Garcia, the man who had been my childhood sweetheart, my fiancé. He was handsome, charismatic, and already making waves i

ding. Or rather,

I couldn't comprehend. I was kidnapped. My captors were ruthless, their faces hidden, th

e were a family. Derek loved me. He had promised forever, hadn't he? We were supposed to be married in days.

. They fed me, kept me blindfolded, but didn't physically harm me. It was a chilling prel

seven. The ill

stench of stale cigarettes and unwashed bodies filled my nostrils. A man, his face a

k. Then another. Then a kick to my ribs. My worl

news. And there he was. Derek. My fiancé. He was beaming, standing next to Krystal Peck, his

My heart seized. The coincidence was too cruel, too precise.

phone into my hand. "

isbelief. Derek's number. It still made my heart a

pered, my voice

al' s. Her tone was cool, efficient. "Mr. Garcia is

her! I've been kidn

stal' s voice, softer, almost a purr, "Darling, not now. We h

aunch. They were together. Wh

dead. Krysta

about my life. It was about him. Derek. He had chosen. He had c

kly at the wall, tears streaming down my face. My fia

I had nothing left. Day eight. No ransom. They broke my finger. Snap. The

release, stern and unwavering: "We do not negotiate

iliate me. Distribute the videos online. I begged. I ple

ng Derek Garcia's shrewd business acumen, his unwaver

cation abroad. And, more damningly, they had divested completely from the family business.

o longer claimed. The kidnappers, enraged by the lack of payment, by the

ery shred of dignity, every last hope. They were no longer trying to extract mo

as being systematically broken. I was force-fed sand. My hair was torn out in clumps. My

dn't reach. Every fiber of my being screamed for an end, any end. But it nev