His Captive Bride

Sebastian Vane's POV:

The clink of crystal against crystal had become a kind of torture by the third hour.

Champagne flutes multiplying like rabbits across every surface of the Ashford Estate, laughter pitched just a bit too loud, conversations swirling around mergers and marriages and absolutely nothing that mattered.

I'd watched Lord Ashford toast his daughter's engagement twice already—same speech, same forced smile—while perfectly coiffed heads nodded and applauded on cue.

Someone thrust another glass of Dom Pérignon into my hand. I didn't remember finishing the last one.

I was halfway to the exit when Adrian Vane found me.

"Uncle Sebastian." His voice cracked slightly.

Christ, the boy looked wrecked. Dark circles, rumpled collar, that desperate shine in his eyes. "Could I have a moment?"

Ah. Here we go.

I gestured to the balcony with my glass, already knowing what was coming.

The cool night air hit us, carrying the scent of manicured roses and old money. Adrian's hands were shaking as he gripped the marble balustrade.

"I need to tell you something." He swallowed hard. "I can't accept the family's arranged marriage."

His words made my jaw clench so hard I tasted copper.

"There's someone I love," he continued, words tumbling out faster now. "I know my duty to the family, Uncle Sebastian. I know what's expected of me. But I can't marry someone else when my heart belongs to another. I won't do it. I can't—"

His voice cracked, and he gripped my arm with desperate strength.

"You wouldn't want to see me marry someone I don't love, would you?" Those brown eyes bore into mine with raw pleading. "Elena is the only woman I'll ever marry. No one else. I won't accept anyone the family chooses for me."

"Adrian." I kept my tone measured, though impatience bled through despite my efforts. "And where exactly is this woman of yours? Have you even asked if she feels the same?"

"I just—I've temporarily lost track of her." He straightened his spine, a flash of stubborn determination cutting through the desperation. "But once I see her again, I won't let go. Never."

Won't let go. The phrase echoed in my skull like a mocking refrain.

I looked at him for a long moment—this nephew of mine, so convinced that fate would simply deliver his heart's desire into his waiting arms. So certain that love was something you could catch if only you wished hard enough.

"Then wait until you see her," I said flatly. "We'll talk then."

Not that I'll ever let that happen.

I stepped past him without another glance, leaving him alone on the balcony with his romantic delusions and the cold night air.

I'd barely taken a few steps when my phone buzzed.

Marcus. Head of security. Calling at 11:47 PM during a social event could only mean one thing.

"Sir." His voice was tight. "She's gone."

The whiskey glass nearly shattered in my grip. "What?"

"Left through the service entrance approximately forty minutes ago. Disabled two cameras, bypassed the motion sensors in the stairwell. She's—"

"Find her." The words came out flat. Dead. "Bring her back. Now."

"Already mobilized, sir. We have—"

I hung up, walked straight through the marble foyer, and past the staff who melted out of my path, past the clusters of guests who knew better than to intercept a Vane in motion. No one questioned. No one dared.

Inside, something dark and vicious was unfurling, spreading through my chest like ink in water.

*Forty minutes. She could be anywhere by now.

No. Marcus would find her.

He had to find her.

The ride back to the Aurora Penthouse took seventeen minutes. I counted every single one.

My phone rang again as we pulled into the private garage. "Secured, sir. She's in the living room."

I didn't bother responding. Just moved through the elevator, the hallway, my hand finding the silver crucifix in my pocket out of habit.

Keep it together. Don't lose control. She's safe. She's home. She's—

There.

Curled on the sofa like a broken bird, security personnel flanking either side.

Her hair hung in tangled strands, her dress torn and frayed at the hem, feet bare against the cold floor. When those pale blue eyes met mine, I glimpsed something that made my blood run cold—raw, unguarded terror.

Then it was gone, replaced by that cool, distant look I'd come to dread.

"Leave us," I said quietly.

The room emptied in seconds. Smart. They could probably feel the violence simmering under my skin, taste it in the air like ozone before a storm.

I crossed to her slowly. Carefully. Every muscle in my body screamed to grab her, shake her, make her understand what she'd almost done.

Instead, I crouched down, eye level. Inspected her for injuries with hands that almost—almost—didn't shake.

Scraped knees. Bruised wrist where someone had grabbed her too hard.

They hurt her.

The thought sent cold fury lacing through my veins.

Incompetent bastards. Let her slip away and injured her in the recapture.

But despite the anger simmering beneath my skin, relief flooded through me in overwhelming waves.

Scraped. Bruised. But whole. Safe. Here.

I pulled her into my arms before I could stop myself, burying my face in her hair, breathing in that familiar scent of jasmine and her.

"Why?" The word came out broken. Wrong. "Why won't you just listen? Why do you keep doing this to me?"

She was rigid in my embrace. Not fighting—she'd learned that lesson—but not yielding either. Just... enduring.

God, I hate when she endures.

"Do you still have feelings for him?" I heard myself ask. "Adrian. Is that why you keep trying to leave? You want to go back to him?"

Her sharp intake of breath told me everything.

The darkness inside me surged.

I stood abruptly, lifting her with me, and she didn't weigh anything at all. Just a handful of soft curves and stubborn will as I carried her down the hallway, her silence screaming louder than any protest.

The bedroom door slammed behind us. I set her on the bed—not threw, I wasn't completely gone yet—and her eyes went wide when I reached for her dress.

"Sebastian, don't—"