Four
1220 Words
Terror and desire were a toxic combination.
As the jeep tore through the streets, one part of my mind was screaming, cataloging every landmark we passed, trying to memorize a path back to my children.
The man beside me captivated the other part—the traitorous, primal part.
My wolf loved the scent of pine and cedar filling the car. She was soothed by the power radiating from my fated mate, or in this case, my kidnapper.
We left the heart of Wild Fangs behind. City blocks gave way to suburban estates. Manicured lawns and huge houses blurred into a streak of green and white as he drove with a speed that was both reckless and expertly controlled.
My thoughts jammed together.
Who the hell was this man?
Why did he believe I was his dead wife?
Why, out of all the absurd directions my life could take, did fate have to come wrapped in this much baggage?
This is our mate, my wolf whispered from the recesses of my mind. He is ours.
I wanted to scream at her.
First, a stolen wedding. Now, a stolen identity.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed movement in the rearview mirror. The little girl tried to lean forward and touch me, but was restricted by her seatbelt.
The look of pure adoration in her eyes made my heart sink. For her, today was the best day of her life.
“Please,” I said, my voice trembling as I turned to the man. “Let me go. My family is waiting for me.”
“It’s no use trying the door,” he replied calmly, his eyes never leaving the road. “It’s locked. Unless you want all of us to crash, I suggest you sit back.”
His calmness terrified me more than any threat. It was the calm of someone convinced they were right.
The little girl’s voice piped up from the back seat. “Is Mommy mad at us, Daddy?”
He glanced at me, and the look in his eyes made my skin crawl. It was a pity, the kind of pity reserved for someone considered insane.
“Mommy is just... unwell, Addy,” he said softly.
“Unwell?” I shrieked, my control snapping. “I am not unwell! I am perfectly fine, and I am not the person you think I am!”
He let out a short laugh.
That was when I realized I was talking to a wall. He wasn’t hearing me. He was hearing a version of me filtered through a story he’d already written, one where I was his traumatized, memory-wiped wife.
He didn’t speak again until he turned off the main road and drove toward a set of massive gates.
It wasn’t just an estate. It was a fortress. High walls topped with security wire enclosed the property, softened only slightly by bursts of hibiscus in bloom.
This wasn’t just wealth. It was power. Billionaire-level power.
Uniformed guards patrolled the perimeter with guns slung across their backs. Their eyes widened the moment they saw me.
“Luna,” one of them said into a radio, voice crackling. “Luna Sasha is with the Alpha. She’s home!”
Luna?
Alpha?
What the actual hell?
My blood ran cold. I wasn’t just being mistaken for someone’s wife. I was being mistaken for the Luna of what was a powerful pack.
This was no longer a kidnapping. This was an identity crisis on a scale I couldn’t even understand.
He drove us down a long driveway and pulled up in front of a mansion that looked more like a luxury resort. Before he could shut off the engine, the front doors burst open and an elderly woman rushed out.
“Oh my God! Sasha!” she cried, rushing to my side as he opened the door. She pulled me into a hug so tight I could barely breathe. “You’re alive! By the Goddess, you’re alive!”
I flinched, recoiling. She stepped back, her joy crumbling into confusion.
“What’s wrong with her, Alpha Xavier?” she asked, turning to him.
“She’s traumatized,” he answered. “We need to call Dr. Johnson.”
That was my breaking point.
I yanked my arm free from Xavier’s grip and collapsed to my knees on the marble floor.
“Please,” I begged, tears streaming down my face. “My name is Savannah. I can prove it. Let me give you my dad's number. Just listen to me.”
Xavier looked down at me with that same pitying amusement, and then he spoke softly.
“Oh, my dear wife,” he said, pulling me back to my feet and into another suffocating embrace.
This time, I couldn’t even struggle. The mate bond surged, a flood of warmth and desire so intense it robbed me of strength.
A dark thought surfaced.
What if you said yes? What if you just became Sasha?
Think of the safety. The wealth. Jermaine’s surgery would be done with no stress or debt.
I rejected the thought immediately.
This wasn’t my life.
The real Sasha was missing, maybe even dead.
How could I steal her life, no matter how desperate I was?
What if they found her?
Xavier handed me over to the elderly woman.
“Matilda will take care of you,” he said, kissing my forehead. “I need to make some calls.”
Matilda treated me with gentle care, the kind reserved for mental patients.
“There, there, dear,” she said, guiding me up the stairs. “You’ve had a terrible ordeal. Your family has been worried sick since you went missing. Your mother and grandfather will cry when they see you. A warm bath, some food, and you’ll start to feel like yourself again.”
She led me into a bedroom larger than my entire apartment. A king-sized bed stood in the center. A set of glass doors opened to a private balcony overlooking a forest.
A vanity glistened with perfumes and jewelry.
Matilda left, closing the door behind her.
I was alone.
For a split second, I considered grabbing a handful of diamond earrings. Just one or two would cover the surgery. I could run. Disappear. They were the ones who brought a stranger into their home. This would be their mistake.
But no. I couldn’t.
It felt like a test. There had to be cameras.
My eyes were scanning the room for any sign of escape when I saw it.
A portrait hung on the wall opposite the bed.
I walked toward it.
It was me.
Not a lookalike. Not someone vaguely similar.
Me.
The same dark blonde hair. The same gray eyes. Even the small mole just to the right of my nose.
I stumbled back and sat on the edge of the bed, shaking.
It wasn’t possible. I was my father’s only child. I had no sister. No twin.
And yet, the proof was hanging on the wall of a stranger’s home.
For the first time, I couldn’t blame them.
Even I would have believed I was their missing Sasha.
A new kind of fear settled into my bones.
Not the fear of being kidnapped.
The fear of something far worse.
The fear of being trapped inside another woman’s face.
- Writer
