Her POV
The sound of my heartbeat was louder than the rustling leaves.
I ran, stumbling over roots, tearing my already-shredded scarf on thorny branches. My lungs were burning, my legs on the verge of collapsing. They were close. I could hear them—laughing, shouting in a language I didn't understand.
But I knew why they were chasing me.
I said no.
That one word ruined everything. Or maybe it saved me.
And just when I thought I couldn't go any farther, I crashed—literally—into a chest so solid it knocked the breath out of me.
He was standing like he owned the damn forest.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Dressed in black from head to toe. A rifle slung across his back. His stance wasn't defensive—it was dominant. Confident. The kind of confidence that didn't need words or threats. The kind of stillness you only see in wild animals before they strike.
His face was carved from shadows—sharp jawline, intense brows, and eyes that could either destroy you or save you. I wasn't sure which yet.
For a second, I thought I ran into another danger. But then he stepped in front of me, shielding me without even asking a question. He raised one hand like a silent command. The forest hushed. Even the wind paused.
The men chasing me stumbled to a stop. They saw him—and something shifted. Their smugness vanished. Replaced by fear. Fear flickered in their eyes
They didn't fight.
They ran.
He didn't chase them. Didn't say a word. Just turned slightly, watching them disappear into the trees like cockroaches scattering from light. Then, slowly, he looked at me. His eyes were unreadable, dark, and quiet like a storm before the rain.
His voice was low, deep, and unnervingly calm.
"You okay?"
I nodded slowly, still trying to catch my breath. My scarf was half torn, hair sticking to my damp forehead. My knees threatened to give out.
"Ben iyiyim ... Nerede olduğumu bilmiyorum," ( meaning:"I'm ok... I don't know where I am,") I whispered.
He didn't look surprised. "Amerika'dasın," ( meaning:"You're in America,") he said. "Evden uzakta." ( meaning:"Far from home.")
I blinked.
Wait. What?
I stared at him, heart still racing. His Turkish wasn't perfect, but it was fluent enough to jolt me into silence. Who was this man?
"How do you…?" I started, but stopped myself.
His gaze dropped to my feet, then my torn clothes, then returned to my face. "You shouldn't be here alone. Not in this forest." He turned slightly, as if expecting me to follow. "Come on."
"Excuse me?" I said, still frozen in place. "I don't even know you."
He gave a dry, humorless chuckle. "And you think I know you? You ran into me, remember?"
His arrogance made my spine stiffen. "I didn't exactly have a choice."
He stopped, turned back to face me, and crossed his arms. "You had enough sense to say no, didn't you?" His tone wasn't mocking—more like a challenge. "Use that same sense now and don't stay here. It's not safe. You want them to come back?"
I bit my lip. He had a point, but I hated the way he said it. Like he was always right. Like I was a problem that landed in his territory.
"I don't even know your name."
"Good," he muttered, already walking. "Let's keep it that way."
My mouth fell open. "Excuse me?"
He glanced back over his shoulder, completely unfazed by my tone. "Do you always talk this much when someone saves your life?"
Heat crept up my neck. I didn't owe him gratitude—not the way he was acting. Still, my options were limited. My phone was gone. I was bleeding from somewhere, and my legs were barely holding me up.
With a reluctant sigh, I followed, muttering under my breath in Turkish. He didn't seem to care.
We walked in silence for a while, the only sounds being the crunch of leaves beneath our feet and the occasional call of a bird in the distance.
He finally slowed near a clearing, and I saw a cabin—no, more like a fortress—tucked between the trees. Sleek, modern, and out of place in the wilderness. Security cameras. Steel doors. The kind of place you build when you don't want to be found.
He stopped at the steps and looked at me again, finally speaking. "You need food, rest, and a clean bandage. That's all. Don't get comfortable."
I frowned. "You really have an attitude problem, don't you?"
He smirked, the first expression that wasn't completely cold. "I live alone for a reason. Strangers tend to remind me why."
I crossed my arms. "You're a terrible host."
He raised an eyebrow. "I'm not your host. I'm your last option."
And with that, he disappeared inside, leaving the door open just enough for me to decide:
Stay outside and possibly die.
Or step inside and risk dealing with the most arrogant man in the forest.
I stood there, staring at the slightly open door like it might bite me.
Everything inside me screamed Don't go in.
Not because of the danger—but because of the man behind that door.
I didn't trust him.
Not because he'd done anything wrong, but because I didn't understand him. He was unpredictable. Sharp. Silent in all the wrong ways. And I was too raw—too shaken—to handle that kind of energy right now.
So I didn't move.
I crossed my arms and sat on the wooden step outside, knees pulled close. The cool breeze kissed my skin, brushing against the dried sweat and the sting of the small cuts on my legs. I watched the forest, half-expecting the men to return… but more afraid of what waited behind the steel-lined walls of that cabin.
Ten minutes passed.
Then the door creaked.
I stiffened.
He stepped out, a black box in hand. Wordlessly, he walked over and held it out.
"Bandage yourself," he said, like he was offering me a pen, not something that might save me from infection.
I took it slowly, fingers brushing his for a split second—cold. Rough. Steady.
"Thanks," I murmured.
He didn't respond, just leaned against the doorway and crossed his arms, watching me like he was waiting to see how badly I'd mess this up.
Which I did.
I opened the box and took out a disinfectant wipe. My hand trembled as I tried to clean the gash on my calf. The sting made me wince, but worse was the silence—the way he watched me. Like he was reading everything I wasn't saying.
I fumbled for the bandage. Unrolled it. Tried to wrap it around my leg with one hand while holding the gauze in place with the other. It slipped. My fingers tangled. I cursed under my breath.
I'd never done this before. Not even once. I wasn't weak—just… unused to needing anyone.
Still, I didn't ask for help. I couldn't.
I could feel him staring.
And for some reason, that made my hands even clumsier.
"Is this… a joke?" he said finally, his voice dipped in that same dry arrogance he wore like armor.
My head snapped up. "What?"
"You look like you're trying to wrap a sandwich, not treat a wound."
I flushed, heat blooming across my cheeks. "I didn't ask for your opinion."
"No," he said, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward me slowly. "But I'm giving it anyway."
He crouched in front of me, and I froze.
Too close.
Too quiet.
Too him.
I wanted to shrink back but didn't. His hands reached for the bandage—not forcefully, but firmly, like he wasn't asking. His fingers brushed my calf, and I stiffened like stone.
"You're bleeding," he said flatly. "Stop acting like I'm the threat."
"I'm not," I whispered. But my voice betrayed me. I was scared. Not of him hurting me. Just… scared of being seen.
He said nothing. Just took the gauze and wrapped it neatly. Precise, efficient. Not gentle—but not rough either. The kind of care that came from necessity, not affection.
"I could've done it myself," I mumbled.
He looked up then, eyes unreadable. "Could you?"
I opened my mouth to argue, but the truth sat bitter on my tongue.
He tied the last bit of the bandage and stood up. "Next time, don't lie to yourself just to look strong."
Then he walked back inside.
Leaving me alone again—wounded, bandaged, and feeling more exposed than I had in years.
I sat there for a while after he went inside, unsure what stung more—my pride or the wound.
The sun dipped lower behind the trees, shadows stretching longer across the forest floor. Cold crept in slowly, seeping into my skin. Every crack of a branch in the distance made my body tense.
Then the cabin door creaked again.
He stepped out, now wearing a thick utility jacket and strapping a knife to his side. The rifle was already slung across his back, blending with the dark palette of dusk.
"I'm going hunting," he said bluntly.
I blinked, startled. "Wait—what?"