Dark Revenge Of A Jilted Bride: Till Life Do Us Part!-Chapter 69: Kidnapped III

Gianna didn’t scream when the man’s hand closed on her left breast.

The sound died somewhere deep in her chest, crushed beneath shock and a sudden, overwhelming sense of wrongness that flooded her whole body at once.

It wasn’t just pain. It wasn’t even just fear. It was the instant, sickening awareness of being touched where she hadn’t given permission—of being claimed like an object, handled without care, without regard.

Her skin felt like it no longer belonged to her.

Something ugly crawled through her veins, as his grip tightened roughly. She felt dirty immediately, as though whatever he’d taken couldn’t be washed away. As though the boundary she’d carried her whole life had been breached in one brutal motion.

Her breath fractured. The world tilted. Her vision blurred, not from darkness this time, but from tears she hadn’t realized were spilling yet. They slid down her cheeks in silent streams, unstoppable, humiliating in their quietness.

He leaned closer. His breath was hot, sour, whispering things she didn’t want to hear, words that scraped against her mind like rusted metal. Promises. Threats disguised as pleasure. The certainty in his tone made her stomach twist violently.

She didn’t respond. She couldn’t.

She cried instead, silently, her lips trembling, her chest shuddering with shallow, broken breaths. She tried to pull her mind away, to think of anything else—Athena’s voice, Florence’s cooking, the sunlight in the Thorne gardens—but the present clung to her, heavy and inescapable.

She became aware of another presence. A second man had moved closer.

She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. But she felt his gaze on her skin, felt the weight of it like hands she couldn’t see. She caught the sound of him wetting his lips, slow and deliberate, and bile rose in her throat.

Her eyes squeezed shut.

When fabric shifted against her skin, when the first man tugged downward impatiently, pushing down her camisole to fondle the flesh to his satisfaction, Gianna flinched, a small, broken sound escaping her despite her efforts to stay quiet.

Her body shook, not from cold, but from the sheer effort of enduring what was happening without shattering completely.

She felt him laugh.

Not loud. Not cruelly amused. Just...pleased.

Her nose was running now. Tears soaking her clothes.

She gasped, a shaky breath slipping free—not relief, not safety, just the desperate need for air—when suddenly another voice cut through the moment.

"Enough."

She froze.

The first man stepped back with a groan of protest, irritation thick in the sound. The second echoed it, annoyed, restless.

Gianna didn’t open her eyes yet. She didn’t dare. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure they could hear it.

"What?" the first man snapped. "You sure you don’t want her first?"

Her breath hitched audibly at the question, betraying her fear completely.

They laughed.

The mocking sound wrapped around her, as she waited for the answer. The third man didn’t rush it. He took his time, and that alone made her stomach churn.

He shook his head.

"Would’ve liked to," he said casually. "But the boss said we wait. Would like to watch..."

Her body shuddered.

The boss.

The words lodged in her mind like a splinter. Someone else. Someone watching. Someone who wanted this orchestrated, delayed, savored.

Sick.

There was no other word for it.

Her thoughts spiraled—someone depraved enough to plan this, to want to observe it, to turn her terror into entertainment. The idea made her chest tighten painfully.

"Then when?" the first man groaned.

"In the morning."

Gianna exhaled shakily. Relief washed through her so fast it made her dizzy.

Morning meant time. Time meant possibility. Surely—surely—that was enough for her family to notice she was missing. For someone to look for her.

But the hope barely had time to settle before it was ripped away.

"Or tonight," the man added lazily. "If they feel like it."

Her stomach dropped. Tonight. Them. Plural.

Her pulse spiked violently, fear crashing back in with renewed force. Who were they? Why her? What had she done to be chosen for this?

She began to pray silently, desperately, begging for restlessness to strike her family.

For Athena to feel it. For Florence to wake up uneasy. For someone—anyone—to sense that something was terribly wrong with her absence at home.

Meanwhile, back at the Thorne mansion, Athena couldn’t sit still.

She paced the living room slowly, phone clutched in her hand, eyes flicking repeatedly to the clock on the wall. Eleven thirty.

The house was quiet. Too quiet. The children were asleep. Her grandfather had gone to bed hours ago. She should have been asleep too.

But something twisted uneasily in her chest, wouldn’t let her retire despite the hectic day she had.

"Mama," she said finally, turning to Florence. "I’m telling you—something is wrong."

Florence hesitated, her own worry beginning to mirror Athena’s. Gianna hadn’t answered her calls. Not one. That alone was unusual enough to set her nerves on edge.

"Should we check the company?" Florence asked softly.

Athena nodded immediately. She was wearing one of Ewan’s sweatshirts over joggers, sleeves pulled down over her hands, the familiar fabric doing little to calm her.

"But you won’t go," Athena said. "Go upstairs. Grandpa won’t sleep well without you by his side."

A small smile touched Florence’s lips despite everything. "I’m sure he’ll survive."

Athena shook her head, already moving toward the door. "Please. I’ll be fine."

She was mid-step when the door opened.

Ewan walked in first, followed closely by Zane and Spider.

"Where are you going?" Ewan asked, stopping short when he saw the determination on her face.

"To check on Gianna," Athena replied immediately. "She’s not back from work."

Zane pursed his lips. Just like the woman to put her people in worry.

He understood her need to win the convention just to spite him, but really...

"Have you reached her phoe? Maybe she is working, you know, with the approaching convention..." Ewan suggested, looking at her phone.

"I have. She is not answering."

"Maybe she is too engrossed in work..."

Athena ignored Zane, and turned to Spider.

"There is a fellow that works with her currently..." she paused, thinking better than mentioning the collection. It was something of a secret, considering Zane was of the rival company.

"His name is Vance." She frowned. "That’s all I know. But can you check him out?"

A pause. " I’m sure something will pop up if you connect him with the Becketts. He is something of a genius, according to Gianna."