Chapter Ninety

Chapter Ninety
Eros
I used to care what people thought—especially my family. Their approval once meant everything to me. But the moment Athena walked into my life, everything changed. My priorities shifted. Love did that to a man. Real love.

They didn’t like her. Thought she was beneath us, unworthy of the Belmonte name. I didn’t care. I’d already made the mistake of letting them dictate my choices once, and I refused to make that mistake again. I would not lose her to their warped expectations.

Especially not now.

Athena’s divorce was finalized in under three months. Lysander didn’t even bother showing up to the hearings. Typical coward. He hadn’t just lost a wife—he’d lost the best thing that ever happened to him. 

But his loss was my salvation. I still remember the way her hands trembled as she held those final papers. Relief, grief, guilt. It was all there in her eyes. But I promised her then and there: no more pain. Only peace.

And tonight? Tonight was supposed to be the beginning of forever.

I’d spent weeks planning the proposal. Reserved a private suite at Golden Sphinx, the five-star restaurant overlooking Crescent Bay. The view shimmered with gold lights reflecting off the waves, but nothing outshone Athena in that silk navy-blue dress. Her hair was pinned back loosely, the way I loved, with a few curls brushing her bare shoulders.

We laughed. We toasted. I told her I loved her again and she said it back, eyes shining with something deeper than happiness. Trust. Hope.

When I pulled the ring from my jacket pocket and dropped to one knee, her breath caught.

“Athena Sanderson,” I said, voice steady despite the pounding of my heart, “will you marry me?”

Her smile lit up the entire room. “Yes,” she whispered.

Yes.

It echoed in my chest, louder than the clinking of glasses or the background music.

She kissed me, holding my face as though I were something precious. Then she laughed—bright, unfiltered joy—and excused herself to use the restroom.

That was the last time I saw her.

Minutes passed.

I tried to steady my breathing, forcing myself not to panic. Maybe someone had recognized her—after all, I’d talked her into filming that one damn commercial for Belmonte Energy and Resources, and just that brief appearance had made her unexpectedly popular. 

Or maybe… maybe the proposal had hit too hard, and she needed a minute to collect herself. But with every second that passed, the weight in my chest grew heavier. I ordered her favorite dessert, clinging to routine, pretending everything was normal. But it wasn’t. Something was wrong. I felt it.

But then ten minutes passed.

Then fifteen.

I stood.

“Excuse me,” I said to a passing waitress. “My fiancée went to the restroom a while ago. Could you check if she’s all right?”

She nodded and disappeared into the hallway.

She returned two minutes later, pale-faced. “Sir, the restroom is empty.”

My blood ran cold.

I didn’t wait. I sprinted toward the hallway, past confused diners and startled staff. The corridor to the restrooms was quiet—too quiet. I reached the women’s restroom door, heart pounding.

And then I saw it.

Lying just outside the door, barely visible under the soft lighting, was a silver earring.

Her earring.

My stomach dropped.

I crouched down, trembling fingers picking it up. There, beside it—almost invisible—was a faint red smear on the tile. My breath caught.

Security footage. I needed to see it.

I stormed into the manager’s office and demanded access. The man looked flustered, but one mention of my last name and he complied.

We rewound the footage.

At 9:47 p.m., Athena entered the hallway. At 9:48, two figures emerged from the stairwell. Masks. Black gloves. One of them held a cloth—chloroform, probably. They moved fast. Efficient. No hesitation.

They ambushed her before she reached the restroom. She struggled, fought back—but they overpowered her. One hit her across the temple. She collapsed. They dragged her through the service exit.

9:50. Gone.

My fists clenched so hard I felt blood beneath my nails. My chest burned—not just with fury, but fear. I’d failed her.

Not even twenty minutes after slipping a ring on her finger, I’d lost her.

I called the police. Called my head of security. Called every goddamn person I knew in Crescent City with enough power to raise hell.

But deep inside, beneath the rage and the chaos, a cold truth gnawed at my gut:

This wasn’t random.

Someone planned this.

And I would find them.

God help them when I did.
\~~~~~
Athena
Darkness. 

Then pain.

A throbbing ache pulsed at the side of my head, and my limbs felt heavy—as though I were underwater, sinking deeper with every breath. I tried to move, but my wrists were bound behind me, the skin raw against the ropes. My mouth tasted like chemicals. Chloroform.

The air was damp and metallic, like rusted iron and old water. Concrete walls. No windows. Just a single flickering light bulb swinging overhead.

Panic rose like a wave, hot and dizzying. I gasped, but the sound came out muffled—tape across my mouth. My pulse raced. I twisted, testing the restraints, but they only tightened. I blinked hard, trying to remember.

The proposal.

The restaurant.

Eros.

My chest ached with the memory of his eyes—those soft, steady eyes when he knelt and asked me to marry him. I’d never seen him look so vulnerable, so certain. I’d said yes. I meant it with every broken, healing piece of me.

And now this.

Kidnapped.

Why?

Who would do this?

Lysander? No… he hadn’t even cared enough to show up in court. The last words he said to me were bitter, but hollow. And Eros—his family? They disapproved, yes. But they wouldn’t resort to something this savage… would they?

I shivered. Not from cold, but from uncertainty. From fear.

I heard footsteps.

Heavy, slow. Deliberate.

The door creaked open, revealing a tall figure dressed in black from head to toe. No mask this time. A man, mid-forties maybe. His eyes were sharp, calculating. Not someone hired. Someone in charge.

He crouched in front of me, resting his arms on his knees like we were just having a conversation.

“You’re awake,” he said casually. His voice was smooth—too smooth. “You’re tougher than I thought.”

I glared at him through swollen eyes. He smiled.

“No need for fear, Athena,” he continued. “We’re not going to hurt you. As long as Eros listens.”

My heart dropped.

So this was about him.

Eros.

Was he okay? Had he seen the footage? Was he tearing the city apart by now? God, I hoped he wasn’t walking into a trap.

“You see,” the man went on, circling behind me now, “your fiancé made enemies. Powerful ones. He was warned. He didn’t listen.”

I tried to scream against the tape, to fight, to move. Nothing.

“You’re the message,” he said, and I felt the chill of those words settle into my spine.

Tears welled in my eyes—not from pain, but rage. They thought I was a pawn. A weakness.

They didn’t know me.

And they sure as hell didn’t know Eros.

Because he would come for me.

And when he did, there would be no mercy.

Not for any of them.