I’m the contracted bride of the billionaire

Philip was in danger of being choked to death by the weight of the words, which hung in the air like an unpleasant cloud. “Amelia’s been taken.” Emily’s voice, regularly a stronghold of poise, trembled with a crude fear that chilled Philip profoundly.

Time appeared to ease back to a creep, his general surroundings blurring into a dim haze as the import of those four words tunneled profound into his cognizance. Amelia. Taken. The two ideas were so unique, so absolutely indistinguishable, that Philip’s psyche attempted to accommodate them.

Amelia, with her iridescent grin and unfaltering soul, a brilliant signal that had directed him through the haziest profundities of his own questions and instabilities.

What’s more, taken – a word that invoked pictures of brutality, of vindictive plan and unspeakable revulsions.

How is it possible for such opposing forces to coexist in the same realm? However, as Philip’s look met Emily’s blasted articulation, reality ended up being inevitable, a sledge disaster for the actual underpinnings of his world. Amelia, his Amelia, the one who had stirred his heart and set his spirit on fire intensely he had long thought smothered, was gone.

He felt a whirlwind of emotions, a volatile mix of fear, rage, and a soul-deep anguish that threatened to make his knees buckle.

His psyche hustled, trying in vain, frantic for a clarification, a good omen to stick to. “What occurred?” he requested, his voice a dry scratch that deceived the disturbance seething inside him. “How is it that this could have worked out?” Emily’s lips separated, yet no words approached, her eyes flickering with unshed tears that said a lot of the weightiness of the circumstance.

Philip felt his chest contract, the air in the room out of nowhere thick and choking.

He wanted replies, expected to figure out how this bad dream had showed, yet more than anything, he expected to act.

With a fantastic power of will, he clasped down on the swell of feelings that took steps to overpower him, diverting it into a peculiarity of direction.

He would track down Amelia, regardless of the expense, regardless of the impediments that hindered him. “Accumulate the group,” he requested, his tone brooking no contention. “I need each asset available to us prepared right away.

No stone will be left unturned until she’s back free from even a hint of harm.” Emily gestured, her developments solid and mechanical as she attempted to keep up with her impressive skill notwithstanding such critical conditions.

Philip turned on his back and walked erratically down the corridor as he did so. Planning for the worst-case scenario and using every bit of his power and resources, his mind was a whirlwind.

As he stepped into the security center, an impressive collection of previous military and policing snapped to consideration, their countenances scratched with troubling assurance.

These were the most elite, hand-picked for their relentless dedication and extraordinary ranges of abilities. Philip said, “Amelia Fenwick has been abducted,” his voice ringing with a commanding authority that forbade any disagreement.

“I need each accessible resource committed to her recuperation. Investigate every possibility, no lead un-examined.”

A chorale of confirming gestures undulated through the positions, the colleagues getting a move on a very much oiled proficiency that custom long stretches of preparing and experience.

Philip’s look cleared over the whirlwind of action, his jaw set in a rigid line as the primary strings of an arrangement started to come to fruition.

He would use each association, each favor owed, to project a wide net and unwind the tangled web that had entrapped Amelia.

As the hours ticked by in a horrifying creep, parts of data started to stream in, each piece adding one more layer to the unfurling secret.

The kidnapping had been executed with careful accuracy, a sign of expert agents as opposed to novice hoodlums. As he perused the scant evidence and considered the implications, Philip’s brow furrowed.

A wrongdoing of this type, completed with such fastidious preparation and execution, discussed assets and inspirations that stretched out a long ways past a straightforward payment interest.

A ringlet of fear wound its direction up his spine as a recognizable phantom lingered in the fringe of his viewpoints. Cambel. His stepmother’s name resembled a harmful malignant growth, its very expression conveying with it the deceptive pollutant of crafty and malevolence.

Might she at some point be behind this? The thought appeared to be extraordinary, in any event, for somebody as ethically bankrupt as Cambel.

Despite this, Philip was unable to shake the persistent suspicion that she was in control, with her twisted schemes once more encroaching on his life like a relentless shadow.

He grasped his jaw, his fingers twisting into suffocating grips as a flood of white-hot fury speared through him.

On the off chance that Cambel was to be sure involved, in the event that she had tried to lay a finger on Amelia, there would be no edge of the earth far off to the point of shielding her from his fury.

The investigation picked up steam as the hours turned into days, and a web of hints and incidental evidence began to slowly emerge.

Observation film, monetary paths, and murmured bits of gossip all appeared to point in a similar foreboding course – Cambel’s snare of impact and trickery had by and by caught those nearest to Philip. However, for all the mounting proof, there was still no indication of Amelia, no payoff interest or unequivocal affirmation of her destiny.

She seemed to have vanished into thin air and been swallowed up by the unforgiving womb of the unknown.

Philip’s heart hurt as time passes, his brain conjuring 1, 000 terrible situations, every more horrendous than the last.

He proved unable, wouldn’t, engage the thought of an existence without Amelia’s brilliant presence.

She was his anchor, his directing light in the storm, and the possibility of losing her was similar to removing his actual soul.

As the examination wore on, Philip wound up withdrawing into the safe-haven of his confidential review, the walls surrounding him like an actual indication of the stifling depression that took steps to overpower him.

Philip would reach into the depths of his being and summon the memories of Amelia’s love during those alone moments, when the weight of his burdens appeared to be too great to bear.

Her irresistible giggle, the manner in which her eyes would crease with jollity, the glow of her hug – these were the charms that sustained his purpose, the fuel that stirred up the flares of his assurance.

Powered by an all-consuming love that defied logic or reason, that determination grew with each passing day, like a phoenix rising from the ashes of his despair. He would find Amelia, regardless of the expense, regardless of the penances required.Original from NôvelDrama.Org.

Furthermore, assuming Cambel’s hand was for sure behind this barbarity, Philip promised that she would confront the full, unwavering power of his anger.

No longer would he sit around, permitting her harmful aspirations to direct the course of his life.

This was a line that couldn’t be uncrossed, an infringement so deplorable that it requested the most extreme of retaliations.

In the harshest manner possible, Cambel would discover that there are certain boundaries and lines that should never be crossed. As the sun plunged beneath the skyline, painting the horizon in tints of polished gold and red, Philip remained at the floor-to-roof windows of his review, his look fixed on the city that spread before him like a substantial wilderness.

At that time, he committed a promise, a grave commitment that resonated through the actual profundities of his spirit. He would destroy each snag, destroy each boundary, until Amelia was gotten back to him, protected and safe.

Then, using all of his power and resources, he would punish those responsible, unleashing a furious storm that would make it clear what would happen if Philip Waller crossed over. The amber liquid inside the crystal tumbler caught the waning sun like molten fire as his fingers coiled around it. With a steadfast slant of his head, Philip depleted the glass, enjoying the consume as it pioneered a path down his throat.

The pass on was projected, the battlefronts laid out. No matter what, he would arise successful, his adoration for Amelia the signal that would direct him through the most obscure of evenings.

Philip turned away from the windows as the city below faded into the evening, and with a renewed sense of purpose, he moved toward the door.

Yet again the quest for Amelia had just barely started, and he would remain determined until she was securely back in his arms. With a steely assurance scratched into the hard lines of his face, Philip stepped out of the review, his psyche previously humming with methodologies and possibilities.

But as he came around the corner, he saw something that stopped him in his tracks: a sleek, black envelope that was lying on the ground innocuously.

His heart faltered in his chest as his look fell upon the blood red wax seal, the unquestionable emblem of the Waller family peak burning into his vision like a brand.

Decisively, Philip grabbed up the envelope, his fingers shudder as they tore through the seal, uncovering a solitary piece of paper inside.

The words that would haunt him in his nightmares were scrawled across the parchment in a sickening, looping script as his eyes scanned the letter, dripping blood from his face. She is now mine.