His POV
I knew she was watching me. Even as I turned my back and walked into the dark, I could feel her gaze—sharp and confused, maybe even offended.
Good. Let her feel uncomfortable. It meant she was still in control.
I didn't say a word, and she didn't either.
Good. The fewer words we spoke, the easier it was to breathe. I moved around the fire pit, picking up the two plates, the rice pot she had nearly ruined, and the half-melted spoon she had used carelessly. The cleaning cloth hung on a hook under the shelf. I worked quietly and efficiently, wasting no movement.
I scraped the food scraps into a compost bucket. I scrubbed each plate, fork, and the rice pot in the rainwater barrel until they shone and the rice didn't stick. There was no grease, no smell, and no trace of her left behind. I wiped everything dry and stacked them neatly in the storage crate.
Every movement was a habit—efficient and sharp. Like everything else in my life.
Back to order. Back to silence. I cleaned the area where we had eaten, kicked dirt over the fire pit, brushed off the wooden bench, and returned everything to how it was before she came—like her presence had never disrupted my peace.
She still stood there, looking uncertain, with her arms wrapped around herself. She wasn't afraid, but she clearly wasn't used to being told what to do. This kind of defiance didn't come from weakness; it came from surviving something. I wiped my hands on a cloth and finally looked at her.
"Come on."
She followed me. We reached the cabin steps. I opened the door wide and turned to her. My voice was quiet and flat.
"You'll sleep inside. There's a cot and a blanket. Use them."
She blinked. "And you?"
I didn't hesitate. "Outside."
Her brows furrowed immediately. "Out here? In the cold?"
I didn't answer. I just turned away and walked to the lean-to I had built beside the shed—three sturdy walls and a raised platform to keep the dew off. I could feel the tension behind me. She hadn't moved.
I recognized the expression on her face. I had seen it many times on people who thought they were a problem just by being there. Her shoulders were tense, and her jaw was tight. She was overthinking.
"You're feeling guilty," I said without turning.
She didn't respond.
I took a slow breath and faced the nearby woods. "I've slept in worse conditions," I said calmly. "I do this all the time. The woods don't bother me."
She stayed quiet, watching me. I could tell she was uncertain, maybe even worried that she was making things harder. I turned slightly to glance at her in the dim light.
"I'm trained for this," I said, keeping my tone neutral. "You're not making anything difficult." That was true, even if she didn't believe it.
I didn't wait for her to reply and headed to the lean-to next to the cabin, where my bedroll was waiting. I grabbed my wool blanket and spread it over the mat. I took off my boots quickly and leaned my rifle against the wooden beam behind me, always ready.
The air was colder tonight, but I liked the chill. It kept me alert. I lay down, one arm under my head and the other near the knife strapped to my side. I could hear her moving inside the cabin, settling in or maybe thinking. Either way, it was quieter now, quieter than it had been in a long time.
The trees swayed gently above me, rustling their leaves as if telling secrets I already knew. I stared into the darkness, unable to sleep, as old memories crept back into my mind—memories I hadn't allowed in for a long time.
Not fear. Not guilt. Just memories of boardrooms, blood on white shirts, and people who bowed to me while plotting my downfall at the same time.
I shut my eyes tightly. No. Not tonight. That's why I came here—to a place where names don't matter; where no one knows I run one of the biggest companies in America; where no one uses the word "mafia" like a curse; where no one asks what or who I left behind.
I was no one here. And for now, that's what I needed.
Even if she had no idea who she just ran into.
And yet…
As I lay there, looking up at the tangled branches overhead, I had a thought.
"Why did I save her? That's not my job. My guards should handle that.
And yet,
I jumped in. Not just stepped in, but smirked while doing it. I played with fire like a reckless kid who didn't understand how it could ruin lives.
I shouldn't care if her eyes hid secrets or why she was running. But her silence— that tense quiet— was something I understood too well. It echoed feelings I had never shared.
And that scared me.
"But then again," I reminded myself, "I didn't have my guards with me. I came here alone to disappear, to breathe.
So maybe that was all it was.
Just an instinct. A one-time thing. Nothing more.
Still, my chest felt heavy.
Something else troubled me even more than stepping in.
The smirk.
That annoying smirk I gave her when I teased her about the rice.
That— that— wasn't who I am.
I don't tease. I don't joke. I rarely smile, and only in a meeting to calm a tricky situation. I avoid small talk and hardly laugh at my siblings' jokes. I mostly don't respond when someone tries to engage me.
So what was that?
What did that moment mean?
Why did I feel my mouth twitch when I saw her burning the rice like it personally wronged her?
Why did I say anything?
And why did it feel so easy?
I turned my head slightly on the mat, looking at the treeline as if it could give me answers.
It didn't.
Just the same silence.
The usual cold.
And still, somehow, it didn't feel like the same silence as before.
I slowly exhaled, with my eyes open and unblinking under the starry sky.
She changed something inside me. It wasn't loud or obvious, but ever since she entered my life like an unexpected secret, the atmosphere felt different.
I remembered the forest—the way she ran with panic visible in her breathing. I could see the ripped scarf trailing behind her and the blood on her skin. She flinched at shadows but didn't ask for help. Her fear was not ordinary; it was fear learned from experience.
She didn't scream or call for rescue. She just ran.
What was she running from? Who were those men chasing her? Were they strangers, or were they people she knew?
Their shouts rang out with disturbing laughter. They turned and ran when they saw me, and that reaction felt significant. They seemed afraid of something bigger than just their target. Maybe they recognized me.
Had she escaped from something organized? A dangerous group? A risky area? Human trafficking?
My jaw tightened. I had seen places like that.
Brothels hide behind ash and neon lights. Inside, girls are often drugged, chained, bought, and sold. Sometimes they pretend to be willing because they are too broken to protest.
Was she one of them? She didn't seem like it. She had no fake flirtation, no forced sweetness, and no survival smile. Her eyes showed fire and tired pride.
If she came from a place like that, she was not like the others I had seen. She hadn't gone numb yet. That made her dangerous—to someone.
Now she was here—in my woods, sitting by my fire, wrapped in my blanket as if she belonged.
How long had she been running? Days? Weeks? She had no bag, no gear, no food, and no proper shoes.
Had she escaped recently? Or had she been surviving in hell long before I found her? Why did it feel like she was more than just a runaway? More than a scared girl in the wrong place?
Was this all a coincidence, or was it a setup? Was I meant to find her? Was I being pulled back into something I thought I had left behind?
I frowned and closed my eyes. No. I came here to disappear, to bury the noise. I wanted to silence the headlines and the endless cycle of blood deals and betrayals hidden in boardroom talk.
But now… she was here. Suddenly, the woods started whispering again.
That's when I heard it—a short, shaky, terrified scream. It sliced through the trees like a bullet, coming from inside the cabin.
My muscles tensed and then moved. I was on my feet before I could think. The blanket fell aside, my boots were half-laced, and I had forgotten my rifle.
Another scream. "No! Stop—NO!"
I reached the door in seconds and shoved it open.
The cabin was dark except for a faint spill of moonlight through the small window. My eyes adjusted instantly.