The Amnesia Bride’s Secret

[Sarah's Perspective]

The metallic taste of blood lingered in my mouth as I huddled in the corner of the abandoned warehouse. Afternoon sunlight filtered through broken windows, casting long shadows across the debris-strewn concrete floor. My wrists burned from the zip ties, and my left eye was nearly swollen shut from where they'd struck me for refusing to "cooperate."

How did it come to this? The question echoed in my mind as I listened to my captors argue in hushed tones. My own brother, Michael, had sold me to these traffickers for a mere hundred thousand dollars to cover his gambling debts. The same brother who used to chase away the monsters under my bed when we were kids.

"Make the call," the man they called Tiger growled, yanking me to my feet. His breath reeked of cigarettes and cheap whiskey. "Two million dollars by midnight, or we start sending pieces of you to your rich husband." He shoved a phone into my trembling hands.

My fingers moved automatically, dialing the Morrison mansion's number. Each ring felt like an eternity until a familiar voice answered – one that made my stomach twist into knots.

"Morrison residence." Isabella Blake's melodious tone carried its usual hint of condescension.

"Isabella," I managed to keep my voice steady despite my racing heart. "I need to speak with Max. It's urgent."

A soft laugh tinkled through the line. "Oh, Sarah. Max is... resting. Preparing for our upcoming operation." The way she emphasized 'our' felt like a knife twisting in my gut. "But I'll be happy to pass along any message."

"Please," I whispered, watching Tiger pace impatiently. "They want two million dollars. They'll kill me if—"

"Let me be clear about something," Isabella cut in, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "Max loves me. You're nothing but an intruder in our relationship. A nobody who tricked her way into the Morrison family." She paused, then added with cruel satisfaction, "Though I suppose being kidnapped might actually improve your situation—" She caught herself abruptly.

In the background, I heard Max's deep voice: "Isabella, who's on the phone?"

My heart leaped, but Isabella's response crushed any hope: "Just a telemarketer call, darling." The line went dead.

Tiger snatched the phone away, a cruel smile twisting his features. "Well, well... looks like the rich husband doesn't care after all." He tossed the phone aside, where it clattered across the concrete floor. "Get comfortable, princess. You've got a long wait ahead of you."

The next hour stretched into an eternity. I watched the patches of sunlight crawl across the warehouse floor, each minute feeling like a lifetime. My captors moved restlessly around the space, some playing cards, others keeping watch through the grimy windows. The warehouse air grew thick with cigarette smoke and tension.

The sun was noticeably lower in the sky when everything changed.

It started with the phones. One by one, my captors' cell phones lost signal. Tiger noticed first, cursing as he checked his device. Then the radios began crackling with static before falling silent altogether.

"Something's wrong," one of the men muttered, peering through a broken window. "The street's too quiet."

A distant sound grew steadily louder – the steady thrum of rotors cutting through the air. It grew more intense until the whole warehouse seemed to vibrate with its force. Through the broken windows, shadows of multiple helicopters passed overhead, their downdraft stirring up clouds of dust and debris.

"What the hell?" One of Tiger's men rushed to the window. "Boss, we've got company. Lots of it."

"Military?" Another thug asked, his voice tight with fear.

Tiger's face had gone pale. "Worse." He grabbed his radio, barking orders to his men outside. Only static answered him.

The sound of vehicles arriving filled the air – not the familiar wail of police sirens, but the low, powerful rumble of heavy engines. Through gaps in the warehouse's broken walls, I caught glimpses of matte black SUVs taking up strategic positions.

Men in advanced tactical gear began emerging from the vehicles. Their movements were nothing like the police officers I'd seen on TV or in movies. These men moved with the fluid grace of apex predators, their equipment far beyond anything available to law enforcement. Each one carried themselves with the unmistakable bearing of elite military training.

"Morrison Group Security," Tiger whispered, the name falling from his lips like a death sentence.

The tension in the warehouse reached a fever pitch as radio chatter echoed from outside – crisp, professional voices calling out positions and status updates. Through the windows, I could see snipers taking up positions on nearby rooftops, their rifles catching the late afternoon sun.

Then everything went quiet.

A new vehicle had arrived – another black SUV, but this one different from the others. Even from a distance, it radiated an aura of authority. The other operators straightened imperceptibly as the driver's door opened.

Max Morrison stepped out into the fading sunlight, and my heart forgot how to beat.

He wore tactical gear that probably cost more than a year's salary at my old waitressing job, but it was his presence that commanded attention. Tall, imposing, with sharp features that could have been carved from granite. His movements were measured, precise – a predator perfectly at ease in his element.

Max had led elite teams through the worst battles of the Middle East. Who had rescued hostages and eliminated threats with equal efficiency. Who now commanded not just Morrison Group's vast corporate empire, but its shadowy security apparatus as well.

My husband. The man who had never once looked me in the eye.

As he strode toward the warehouse, back straight and head high, Tiger suddenly yanked me up against him, pressing his gun to my temple. His voice cracked with desperation as he shouted through the broken window.

"One more step and your precious wife dies with me, Morrison!" The gun shook against my skin. "Is that what you want? To watch her brains paint these walls? Back off now!"