His POV
I knew she was watching me.
Even as I turned my back and walked into the dark, I could feel her eyes on me, sharp, confused, offended maybe.
Good.
Let her be uncomfortable. It meant she still had a grip on herself.
I didn't say a word. She didn't either.
Good.
The fewer the words, the easier it was to breathe.
I circled around the fire pit, collecting the two plates, the rice pot she'd nearly ruined, and the half-melted spoon she'd used like a weapon against common sense. The cleaning cloth hung on a hook under the covered shelf. I worked quietly, efficiently, no wasted movement.
Scraped off the food scraps into a compost bucket.I scrubbed each plate, each fork, the rice pot, twice in the rainwater barrel until the metal gleamed and the rice no longer stuck like regret. No grease. No scent. No trace of her presence left behind.. Then I wiped everything dry and stacked it neatly in the storage crate.
Every movement was habit. Efficient. Sharp.
Like everything else in my life.
Back to order.
Back to silence.
I cleaned the area where we ate. Kicked dirt over the fire pit. Brushed off the wooden bench. Reset everything to how it was before she came—like her presence hadn't thrown a rock into the calm surface of my silence.
She still stood, visibly uncertain. She watched quietly from a distance, arms wrapped around herself. Not afraid, but clearly not used to someone telling her what to do. That 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.
We reached the cabin steps. I opened the door wide, then turned to her. My voice was quiet, 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 knit together instantly. "Out here? In the cold?"
I didn't answer. I just turned away and walked toward the lean-to I'd built beside the shed—three sturdy walls, a raised platform, and enough cover to keep the dew off.
I could feel it—the tension behind me. She hadn't moved.
I knew that expression.
I'd seen it a hundred times on people who thought they were causing a problem by merely existing. Her shoulders had gone still. Her jaw tight. She was overthinking.
"You're feeling guilty," I muttered without turning.
She didn't respond.
I exhaled slowly, still facing the woods. "I've slept in worse conditions. I do this all the time. Woods don't bother me."
She stayed silent, but I knew she was still watching. Still wondering if she was making things difficult.
I turned slightly, just enough to glance back at her from the shadows.
"I'm trained for this," I added, tone unreadable. "You're not making anything difficult."
That was the truth. Even if she didn't believe it.
Without waiting for her to answer, I turned no hesitation, no pause, I moved back toward the lean-to beside the cabin, where my bedroll waited, where the cold didn't bite the way people did.Grabbed the folded wool blanket and spread it over my mat. My boots came off in practiced motion. My rifle leaned against the wooden beam behind me. Always within reach.
The air was colder tonight, but I liked the cold. It kept things sharp.
I laid down, one arm folded under my head, the other resting near the knife strapped to my side. I could still hear her shifting inside the cabin. Settling. Or maybe just thinking.
Either way, it was quieter now.
Quieter than it had been in a long time.
The trees above swayed gently, whispering secrets I already knew.
And as I stared into the dark, sleep far from reach, something old and familiar crawled into my chest—something I hadn't let in for a long time.
Not fear.
Not guilt.
Just memory.
Of boardrooms.
Of blood on white shirts.
Of people bowing while plotting my death with the same breath.
I shut my eyes.
No. Not tonight.
This was why I came here.
Where names didn't matter.
Where no one knew I ran one of the most powerful companies in America.
Where no one whispered the word "mafia" like a curse wrapped in gold.
Where no one asked what I left behind… or who I left behind.
I was no one here.
And for now… I needed that.
Even if she had no idea who she just ran into.
And yet…
As I lay there, staring at the black tangle of branches overhead, another thought crept in.
"Why did I save her? That's not my job. That's what my guards are for.
And yet.
I'd stepped in. Not just intervened, but smirked. Played with fire like some reckless kid who'd never seen it burn down a life.
I shouldn't care if her eyes were dark with secrets or why she ran. But her silence that tense, coiled quiet was a language I understood too well. It echoed the things I'd never said aloud.
That's what 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 it.
A one-time thing.
An instinct. Nothing more.
Still, my chest didn't settle.
Because something else bothered me even more than stepping in.
The smirk.
That damn smirk I gave her when I teased her about the rice.
That—that—wasn't me.
I don't tease. I don't joke. I don't even smile unless it's in a boardroom to disarm a snake in a suit. I don't do small talk. I don't laugh at my own siblings' nonsense. Hell, I barely respond when someone tries.
So what the hell was that?
What was that moment?
Why did I feel the edges of my mouth twitch when I saw her burning the rice like it personally wronged her?
Why did I say something?
And why… did it feel so stupidly easy?
I turned my head slightly on the mat, staring off into the treeline like it might offer answers.
It didn't.
Just the usual silence.
The usual cold.
And still, somehow, it didn't feel like the same silence as before.
I exhaled slowly, eyes open, unblinking under the canopy of stars.
She changed something.
Not loudly. Not on purpose.
But the air wasn't the same since she fell into my path like a dropped secret.
My mind drifted back to the forest.
The way she was running. The panic in her breath.
The ripped scarf. The blood on her skin.
The way she flinched at shadows but didn't beg for help.
That wasn't ordinary fear.
It was trained fear.
She didn't scream.
She didn't ask me to save her.
She just… ran.
What was she running from?
Who were those men chasing her?
Were they strangers—or worse—people she knew?
The way they shouted, the sick laugh in their voices, the way they turned and ran when they saw me...
That wasn't just coincidence. That was fear of something bigger than their prey.
Had she escaped from something organized?
A ring? A red zone?
Trafficking?
My jaw clenched.
I've seen those places.
Brothels that disguise themselves in ash and neon.
Places where girls are drugged, chained, bought, and sold—sometimes pretending to be willing because they're too broken to protest.
Was she one of them?
She didn't seem like that.
No fake flirtation. No forced sweetness. No survival smile.
Just eyes full of fire and tired pride.
If she came from a place like that… she wasn't like the others I'd seen. She hadn't gone numb yet.
Which made her dangerous.
To someone.
And now she's here—in my woods, sitting by my fire, wearing my blanket like she belongs.
How long has she been running?
Days? Weeks?
She didn't have a bag. No gear. No food. Not even proper shoes.
Had she escaped recently?
Or has she been surviving in hell long before I found her?
And why the hell does it feel like she's more than just a runaway?
More than a frightened girl in the wrong place?
Was this all random—or was this a setup?
Was I supposed to find her?
Was I being pulled back into something I left behind?
I frowned and shut my eyes.
No.
I came here to disappear. To bury the noise.
To silence the mafia, the headlines, the unending spiral of blood deals and betrayal disguised as boardroom brilliance.
But now… she's here.
…And suddenly the woods are whispering again.
That's when I heard it.
A scream.
Short. Shaky. Terrified.
It tore through the trees like a bullet. From inside the cabin.
My muscles locked. Then moved.
I was on my feet before I could think.
The blanket kicked aside. Boots half-laced. Rifle forgotten.
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.