Kidnapping a girl who lived off BookTok fantasies was either the boldest move or the dumbest mistake a man could make. But here you were, cuffed, breathless, and very much aware that your life had just turned into something between a dark romance novel and a fever dream.

You weren’t the type who spent her nights drinking or chasing parties. No, your addictions were worse—books, voices, fantasies laced in temptation. You spent your father’s money on limited editions and devoured voice actors on TikTok like they were oxygen.

You’d fall asleep with headphones still pressed to your ears, thighs clenched under the sheets as husky narrations spilled through the speakers.

That was your world. Your secret. Your escape and guilty pleasure.

However, tonight—it became your reality, something that should not have happened.

You were in your room, hair in a messy bun, drowning in a black shirt and shorts, music blasting too loud, you were lost in the pages of the Twisted series.

You giggled at the some parts, sighed at the spice, lingered on certain lines so long you could have scorched a hole into the paper. That was when the air shifted.

He entered.

Your bodyguard. Mask still strapped to his face, though he had never stepped past your door without permission. You lifted your gaze, caught the glint of his strange golden eyes, and your stomach flipped in a way you hated admitting.

A hand circled your throat. Sweet, chemical fumes filled your lungs.

“Shh, princess. I won’t harm you. Unless your father forces my hand.”

And the world went dark, until you woke to the purr of an expensive engine. Leather cradled your body, wrists cuffed in front of you. Up front sat your masked bodyguard and another man, broad-shouldered, faceless but for his voice, sounded like that of one of the narrators you often listened to.

“You’re awake, princess,” he drawled, husky, dangerous, deep enough to make your pulse stumble.

Your heart raced with alarms, but your lips almost curved because this, this was every forbidden daydream you’d ever whispered to yourself.

“Why?” you voice cracked, throat raw. “Why are you doing this? Who the hell are you?”

Your so-called protector chuckled low, the sound jagged as he reached back, seizing the nape of your neck with rough fingers and yanking you forward until his eyes were inches from yours.

“Your father’s sins have weight. You’re payment. Our leverage. Behave, be a good girl and maybe I’ll show you mercy.”

His words should have made you cry. Instead, they burned. Your cheeks flushed, your body betraying you as the driver’s gaze slid toward you through the rearview mirror, lingering long enough to smirk beneath his mask.

Music began to play from the stereo, breaking the tension. And instead of cowering like a normal hostage, you smiled.

Then you started dancing.

Bound hands swaying, hips rolling and shoulders moving like you were in control of the situation.

The driver cursed, slamming the brakes so hard you jolted forward, both men whipping their heads toward you in stunned silence.

“What the f*ck is wrong with her?” the driver hissed.

“Why,” you breathed out a laugh, hair falling loose from your bun, “do you feel like you just made the biggest mistake of your lives?”

Your bodyguard’s grip tightened on your wrists, yanking them up. But you twisted, pulling him closer, until his golden eyes went wide, his mask inches from your lips.

“This is the most thrilling thing that’s ever happened to me,” you whispered, voice soft and sharp at once. “And if you think my father will save me, you’re wrong. He’ll probably thank you for taking me away. Maybe even send you flowers and pray for your sanity.”

Their plan shattered in the silence that followed. Both men stiffened, the weight of your words settling in, the reality of just who they’d taken dawning on them.

For the first time, you weren’t reading the story. You were writing it.

"So fellas, shall we take this slow?" They looked at you then at each other like you were crazy.