Chapter 5 The Desire's Kidnapping
# Chapter 5: The Desire's Kidnapping
Two weeks after our return from Italy, I was still living in a state of perpetual tension. Thomas had become increasingly absorbed in the Bertolucci merger, often working late into the night. And Callum—Callum was everywhere. In the hallways, the garden, appearing in doorways just as I was about to enter a room. The physical distance we maintained in Thomas's presence dissolved the moment we were alone.
Stolen kisses in the library. His hand finding mine under the dinner table. Once, recklessly, pressed against the wall of his father's study while Thomas took a call in the next room. Each encounter more dangerous than the last, each time promising ourselves it would be the final transgression.
But that morning, something shifted. I noticed Clara watching me during breakfast, her gaze calculating as I passed Thomas his coffee.
"You look tired, Juliette," she remarked. She had stayed the night, ostensibly to review legal documents with Thomas. "Not sleeping well?"
"Just restless," I replied carefully. "The change of seasons, perhaps."
Clara smiled thinly. "Or perhaps something weighing on your conscience?"
Before I could respond, Callum entered, nodding to his father before fixing his eyes on me with an intensity that made my cheeks warm.
"Good morning," he said, his voice neutral though his gaze was anything but. "Father, do you have time to discuss the Singapore proposal today?"
Thomas sighed, setting down his newspaper. "I'm afraid not. I have meetings all day, then dinner with the Harringtons. In fact," he checked his watch, "I should be leaving now."
He rose, kissed my cheek, and headed for the door. "Don't wait up, my dear. It will be a late night."
After Thomas left, Clara excused herself to make a call, leaving Callum and me alone in the breakfast room. The moment the door closed, his demeanor changed.
"Meet me," he said, voice low and urgent. "The boathouse, one hour."
I shook my head. "We can't keep doing this, Callum. It's wrong."
He leaned forward, eyes intense. "Then why can't you stay away? Why do you tremble every time I'm near you?"
As if to prove his point, his fingers brushed mine as he reached for the sugar, and I felt that familiar electricity course through me.
"One hour," he repeated, and left without waiting for my answer, knowing I would come.
The boathouse sat at the edge of the estate's small lake, hidden from the main house by a stand of willows. It was a place Thomas rarely visited—a sanctuary from prying eyes.
Callum was waiting inside, his back to me as he gazed out at the water. When he turned, the hunger in his eyes made my breath catch.
"I thought you might not come," he said.
"I shouldn't have." But even as I said the words, I moved toward him, drawn like a moth to flame.
He caught me by the waist, pulling me against him. "I can't stop thinking about you," he murmured against my neck. "About us, in Italy."
His mouth found mine, and for several heated moments, there was only sensation—his hands in my hair, the solid warmth of his body, the taste of him on my tongue. When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard.
"We need to talk," I said, trying to regain my composure.
Callum led me to the small sitting area, but instead of taking the chair opposite mine, he knelt before me, taking my hands in his.
"I've been thinking about our situation," he began, his thumbs tracing circles on my palms. "About how we can be together."
Hope and fear mingled in my chest. "Callum..."
"Hear me out," he insisted. "I have contacts—people who can arrange new identities, a fresh start. We could leave, go somewhere no one knows the Ashford name."
I stared at him, stunned. "You want us to run away? Leave everything behind?"
"What's 'everything'? A marriage that exists only on paper? A family name that's more prison than privilege?" His grip tightened. "What is there for you here except being my father's trophy while you share my bed?"
The harsh truth of his words stung. "It's not that simple."
"It could be," he argued. "We could make it simple."
I pulled my hands away, rising to pace the small confines of the boathouse. "You're asking me to abandon my life, my career, everything I've built."
Callum stood as well, blocking my path. "I'm asking you to choose me. To choose us."
The raw need in his voice made my heart ache. I reached up to touch his face, feeling the tension in his jaw. "I need time to think."
His expression hardened. "Time isn't on our side, Juliette. Clara suspects something. It's only a matter of time before—"
"Before what?" I challenged. "Before your father discovers you're sleeping with his wife?"
"Before he discovers you never loved him," Callum countered. "That you've been mine since that night on the balcony in Italy."
I turned away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze. "I need to go. Clara will be looking for me."
Callum caught my wrist. "Promise me you'll think about what I said."
"I will," I conceded, and let him kiss me once more before I slipped away.
That afternoon, I tried to lose myself in work, reviewing acquisitions for the gallery Thomas had recently purchased for me to manage. But my mind kept returning to Callum's proposal. Could I really leave everything behind? Start over with a man I barely knew, yet somehow couldn't live without?
I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I didn't notice Clara enter my study until she spoke.
"Working hard, or hardly working?" she asked, settling into the chair across from my desk.
I closed my laptop. "Did you need something, Clara?"
She smiled, a predatory curve of perfectly painted lips. "Just a little chat, woman to woman."
Something in her tone put me on edge. "About?"
"About the company you've been keeping." She crossed her legs elegantly. "Or more specifically, about the company keeping you."
My heart stuttered, but I kept my expression neutral. "I'm not sure I follow."
Clara laughed softly. "Let's not play games, Juliette. I've known Callum for years—intimately, as you're well aware. I recognize the signs of his... obsession."
"I think you're mistaken," I said, my mouth dry.
"Am I?" She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, sliding it across the desk to me. On the screen was a photo—Callum and me, locked in an embrace outside the hotel in Florence. "One of my associates was in Italy the same week. Imagine his surprise at seeing the new Mrs. Ashford in such a compromising position."
Ice flooded my veins. "What do you want?"
"Nothing dramatic," Clara assured me, retrieving her phone. "Your discretion in certain business matters. Thomas trusts your opinion—perhaps too much. When the time comes, I'll need you to support my recommendations for the company's direction."
"You're blackmailing me."
"I prefer to think of it as insurance." She stood, smoothing her skirt. "Oh, and you might want to check your banking app. I took the liberty of having your accounts transferred to a more... supervised arrangement. For your protection, of course."
After she left, I frantically opened my banking app. My personal accounts—the ones I'd maintained separately from Thomas's—had been emptied, the funds transferred to a joint account that now required dual authorization for withdrawals.
My phone buzzed with a text from Callum: *Need to see you. My office. Now.*
When I arrived at his office in the east wing of the house, Callum was pacing like a caged animal. "She knows," he said without preamble. "Clara has photos."
"She showed me," I confirmed, sinking into a chair. "She's blackmailing me, and she's frozen my accounts."
Callum swore under his breath. "I knew she was manipulative, but this..." He ran a hand through his hair. "There's more. I found these in your bathroom cabinet."
He held up my birth control pills, but they looked different—a generic brand I didn't recognize.
"Those aren't mine," I said, confused.
"Exactly. She's replaced your pills with placebos." His expression was thunderous. "She's trying to ensure you get pregnant, thinking it will bind you to my father and the Ashford fortune more securely."
Horror washed over me. "How could she even access my—"
"Clara has keys to every room in this house," Callum interrupted. "She's been my father's confidante for years. Nothing happens in this family without her knowledge."
I felt violated, manipulated, trapped. "What do we do now?"
Callum knelt before me, taking my hands in his. "We leave. Tonight. I have cash, contacts who can help us disappear until we figure out our next move."
"Run away? Just like that?"
"Do you have a better solution?" he challenged. "Stay here, under Clara's thumb? Keep sneaking around until my father inevitably discovers us? Or worse, find yourself pregnant with a child you're not sure is his or mine?"
The reality of our situation crashed over me. There was no path forward that didn't lead to pain and scandal.
"Where would we go?" I asked, my voice small.
Relief flooded his features. "I have a place in mind. Somewhere safe." He pulled me into his arms. "Pack only what you need. Meet me in the garage at midnight."
As he held me, I felt his heart racing against mine, his body tense with both fear and anticipation. When he spoke again, his voice was rough with emotion.
"I know this isn't how either of us imagined our lives. But I can't let you go, Juliette. I've tried, God knows I've tried. But you're under my skin, in my blood."
He cupped my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. "You belong with me. You know that, don't you?"
In that moment, with his eyes boring into mine, I did know it—with a certainty that terrified me.
"Yes," I whispered.
His kiss was desperate, possessive, a seal on our dangerous pact.
Hours later, as the household settled for the night, I slipped through the darkened hallways with a small bag containing only essentials. The garage was silent as I entered, the gleam of luxury cars barely visible in the dim light.
"Callum?" I whispered.
Strong arms encircled me from behind, and I relaxed, recognizing his touch. But then he spoke, and ice flooded my veins.
"Going somewhere, my dear?"
Thomas. My husband's voice, not my lover's.
I turned slowly to face him, my mind racing for an explanation. But the look in his eyes told me he already knew.
"Thomas, I—"
"Save it," he said, his voice eerily calm. "Clara showed me everything. The photos, the texts, the hotel receipts."
My bag slipped from nerveless fingers. "Where's Callum?"
A bitter smile twisted Thomas's lips. "My son is currently explaining himself to our security team. They found him attempting to access my private safe. For travel money, I presume?"
Shame and fear warred within me. "Thomas, please, let me explain—"
"Explain what?" he cut me off. "How you seduced my son? How you planned to steal from me and run away together? What possible explanation could make this betrayal acceptable?"
Before I could respond, the side door opened, and Callum was marched in, flanked by two security guards. His eye was swelling, a cut on his lip bleeding freely.
"Callum!" I moved toward him, but Thomas caught my arm.
"Not another step," he warned. "This is a family matter now."
Callum's eyes met mine, filled with a mixture of defiance and desperation. "It's not what you think, Father."
"No?" Thomas's grip on my arm tightened painfully. "Then enlighten me."
Callum straightened, shaking off the guards. "I love her. And she loves me. It's as simple as that."
The silence that followed his declaration was deafening. Thomas stared at his son, then at me, his expression unreadable.
"Take him to the wine cellar," he finally ordered the guards. "Lock him in until I decide what to do."
As they dragged Callum away, he called out to me, "This changes nothing! You're mine, Juliette! You'll always be mine!"
Once we were alone, Thomas released my arm and stepped back, regarding me with cold eyes. "Go to your room. We'll discuss your future in this family tomorrow."
As I turned to go, defeated, he added, "And Juliette? Don't bother trying to leave the grounds. The gates are locked, and security has been instructed that neither you nor my son are to pass."
In my room, I collapsed on the bed, the full weight of our failed escape crushing me. We were trapped—Callum in the cellar, me in this gilded cage of a marriage. Clara had orchestrated our downfall perfectly.
Hours later, a soft knock at my door startled me from my misery. I opened it to find Callum, his face bruised but his eyes burning with determination.
"How did you—"
"I know this house better than anyone," he whispered, pulling me into the hallway. "Including where the spare keys are kept."
He led me swiftly through the darkened corridors to the wine cellar, pulling me inside and locking the door behind us.
"They'll find us here," I said, panic rising.
"Not before I've said what I need to say." He backed me against the wall, his body caging mine. "You are not his. You never were. Whatever happens after tonight, remember that."
His kiss was fierce, desperate, tasting of blood and fear and something like hope. When he finally pulled away, his breathing was ragged.
"You can't escape me," he whispered, his hands framing my face. "And you don't want to."
In that moment, pinned between the cold stone wall and Callum's burning body, I knew he was right. Whatever happened next, whatever price we paid for our transgression, I was irrevocably his—body, heart, and soul.