Page 37

T he air in the tent is thick with perfume, hairspray, and energy— too much energy.

Everyone’s bustling.

Touching.

Talking.

Coordinating.

And me? I just need a second.

A single breath of real, unfiltered air.

I know this is all for a good cause, and really, I don’t typically mind doing things like this. Especially not for family. Or for charity.

But something just feels off .

“I’ll be right back,” I murmur to the assistant who keeps fluffing my outfit.

She nods distractedly, already talking into her headset.

I’m wearing nothing but a series of strategically placed nude pieces—somewhere between a corset and panties.

The fabric is just thick enough to cover my nipples and the rest of what my mother would call the mystery , but let’s be honest, it leaves very little to the imagination.

Wrapped around me is layer after layer of nude tulle, each one heavy with crystals.

Thousands of them.

They shimmer like stars caught in spider silk.

So basically, I look naked.

Naked and sparkly.

It’s high fashion, sure.

Art, apparently.

Classy? Maybe not.

Definitely not the pajama pants and comfy tank top I wish I was wearing.

I grab a black silk robe and drape it over my shoulders, trying to appear inconspicuous.

But I keep reminding myself— good cause and all that.

This shoot is for Drew’s Place.

It’s supposed to be raw, beautiful, ethereal.

But still.

I can’t help the way I shift on my heels, suddenly aware of how exposed I feel—not just physically, but emotionally.

Like I’ve peeled back every layer and stepped into the light with my heart beating on the outside of my chest.

I don’t know if it’s the outfit or the cameras or just the weight of this whole damn day, but a strange unease starts to creep in.

And somewhere beneath the glitter and tulle, a chill skates over my skin like a warning.

No one notices when I slip past the flaps at the side of the tent.

The makeshift perimeter is only a few feet away, set up with caution tape and guarded by the Sigma guys I’m sure my overprotective hubby called in.

I don’t go far— just beyond the lights .

Behind where the crowds are being kept at bay.

I just need a breath.

I lean against a tree just inside the line, face tilted toward the sky, the early sun soft and cool on my skin.

It’s louder out here, with the low roar of the crowd just beyond the cordons, but the air is better. Fresher.

I press my hand to my chest.

I want my husband. There is no use denying it.

Balor.

He’s been incredible.

Steady. Protective. Unapologetically mine.

I don’t know what I did to deserve a man like him.

Maybe I don’t.

Maybe that’s why I’m so scared—because it feels too good to last.

All I know is right now, right this second, it almost feels like I have everything.

And of course, that’s when the universe takes it away.

A shadow looms behind me.

There’s no time to scream.

An arm snakes around my waist, and a cloth covers my mouth. The scent hits me— sharp, chemical, dizzying.

Chloroform.

Panic explodes in my chest. I twist. Kick. Fight like hell.

My elbow connects with something—someone.

A curse is hissed in my ear, a sharp pain bursts against my temple.

“No—” I gasp against the cloth, the word barely a whimper.

I’m dragged backward.

Through the trees. Away from the crowds. Away from everything. Away from him. My love.

Balor! My mind screams, but he can’t hear me. No one can.

Someone opens a trunk. I catch a flash of a dark interior, and my stomach drops.

“No! No, please—” My voice is ragged, breaking, but I don’t stop fighting.

I can’t.

Hands shove me in.

I hit something hard and cold.

The trunk slams shut above me, sealing me in complete, suffocating darkness.

I try to scream again, but my throat is raw.

My limbs feel like water.

The world spins and lurches and narrows.

The only thing I can think—the only thought that roots itself and blooms in my fading consciousness—is Balor.

His hands. His eyes. The way he held me this morning. The way he kissed my temple and whispered I love you.

And now?

Now I’m gone.

And he doesn’t even know.

I didn’t get to say goodbye. Didn’t tell him how much he means to me.

“Oh God, no! Balor!” I sob, pounding on the trunk.

But the squeal of tires on asphalt is loud, and I know my kidnapper is getting away with it. With me.

So this is what it feels like to have your heart break?