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.

Jesus, 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 your help finding someone." He swallowed hard. "Elena. Elena Ross."

Her name in his mouth made my jaw clench so hard I tasted copper.

"Something must have happened to her," he continued, words tumbling out faster now. "Elena wouldn't just vanish like this. No calls, no messages, nothing. It's been over a year, Uncle Sebastian. What if she's in trouble? What if someone—"

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

"You have resources I don't. Connections. There's no one you can't find if you really want to." Those brown eyes bore into mine with raw pleading. "Please. If anyone can track her down, it's you."

"Adrian." I kept my tone measured. "University friendships often dissolve after graduation. You know how it is."

"Not like this." He turned to face me fully, and bloody hell, there were actual tears gathering in his eyes. "Please. Just... just help me find her. Make sure she's alright."

Then the bastard knelt.

Right there on the balcony, expensive suit grinding into the stone, looking up at me like I was his last hope. Which, ironically, I was—just not in the way he imagined.

"I'm begging you," he whispered. "I can't think about anything except where she might be and why she left without saying goodbye."

Because I took her, you pathetic fool. Claimed her, kept her, made her mine. And she'll never find her way back to you.

But I didn't say that. Instead, I reached down and helped him to his feet, my hand steady on his shoulder in a gesture that would've looked avuncular to anyone watching. Supportive. Kind.

"I'll see what I can do," I lied smoothly. "Give me time."

The relief that flooded his face was almost painful to witness.

"Thank you. God, thank you, Uncle Sebastian."

I watched him walk back inside, shoulders straightening with manufactured hope.

My phone buzzed before I could finish the thought.

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—"