He could tell she was watching him. Even as he turned his back and walked into the shadows, he felt her eyes on him, sharp, confused, maybe even a bit offended.
He figured, Good. Let her feel a bit awkward. At least that meant she still thought she had control.
Neither of them said anything. He thought, Good. The less they talked, the easier it was to breathe. He moved around the fire pit, picking up the two plates, the rice pot she had almost wrecked, and the half-melted spoon she had used carelessly. The cleaning cloth was hanging on a hook under the shelf. He worked quietly and efficiently, ensuring every move counted.
He tossed the leftover food scraps into a compost bucket and scrubbed each plate, fork, and the rice pot in the rainwater barrel until they sparkled and the rice didn't stick. There was no grease, no smell, and no sign of her left behind. He dried everything off and stacked it neatly in the storage crate.
Each movement was second nature, quick and precise, just like everything else in his life.
Back to order. Back to silence. He had already cleaned up where they had eaten, covered the fire pit with dirt, brushed off the wooden bench, and put everything back to the way it was before she showed up, like her presence had never messed with his peace.
She was still standing there, looking unsure, with her arms wrapped around herself. She wasn't scared, but clearly didn't like being told what to do. That kind of stubbornness didn't come from being weak; it came from getting through something tough. He wiped his hands on a cloth and finally glanced at her.
"Come on."
She followed him to the cabin steps. He swung the door open and turned back to her, his voice calm and flat.
"You'll sleep inside. There's a cot and a blanket. Use them."
She blinked. "And what about you?"
Without a pause, he replied, "I'll be outside."
Her brow furrowed. "Out here? In the cold?"
He didn't say anything; he just turned away and headed to the lean-to he built next to the shed, three solid walls and a raised platform to keep the moisture off. He could feel the tension behind him. She hadn't moved.
He recognized that look on her face. He'd seen it a bunch of times with people who thought their mere presence was a problem. Her shoulders were all tense, and her jaw was clenched.
She was definitely overthinking things.
"You're feeling guilty," he said without even turning to her.
She didn't say anything.
He took a deep breath and looked out at the woods. "I've slept in worse spots," he said calmly. "I do this all the time. The woods don't bother me."
She stayed quiet, just watching him. He could tell she was unsure, maybe even worried that she was making things harder. He turned a bit to glance at her in the dim light.
"I'm trained for this," he said, keeping his tone chill. "You're not making anything tough." That was true, even if she didn't believe it.
He didn't wait for her response and made his way to the lean-to by the cabin, where his bedroll was set up. He grabbed his wool blanket and spread it out over the mat. Then he quickly kicked off his boots and leaned his rifle against the wooden beam behind him, always on guard.
The air was colder tonight, but he liked the chill. It kept him alert. He lay down with one arm under his head and the other near the knife strapped to his side. He could hear her moving inside the cabin, settling in or perhaps lost in thought. Either way, it was quieter now, quieter than it had been in a long time.
The trees swayed gently above him, rustling their leaves as if sharing secrets he already knew. He stared into the darkness, unable to sleep, as old memories crept back into his mind, memories he 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 him while plotting his downfall at the same time. He shut his eyes tightly, thinking, No. Not tonight. That's why he had come here, to a place where names didn't matter; where no one knew he ran one of the biggest companies in the U.S.; where no one used the word
"mafia" like a curse, where no one asked what or who he had left behind.
He was just a nobody here, and honestly, that's exactly what he needed right now, even if she had no clue who she had just bumped into. But still… as he lay there staring up at the tangled branches above, a thought crossed his mind.
"Why did I even bother saving her? That's not my job. My guards should handle stuff like that."
And yet, he jumped right in. Not just casually stepped in, but he had this smirk on his face while doing it. He played with fire like a reckless child, completely unaware of how it could ruin everything.
He knew he shouldn't care about the secrets behind her eyes or why she was running. But that silence, the thick, tense quiet, was something he totally got. It echoed feelings he had never let out, and that freaked him out.
"But hey," he reminded himself, "I didn't have any guards with me. I came here to be alone, to just breathe."
Maybe that was all it was, a gut feeling, a one-off thing. Nothing more. Yet, his chest felt heavy. What bothered him more than the idea of jumping in was that stupid smirk he had flashed her while teasing her about the rice.
He thought to himself, "That wasn't me."
He didn't tease. He didn't joke. He rarely smiled, and only did so in meetings to calm a tricky situation. He avoided small talk and hardly laughed at his siblings' jokes. Mostly, he didn't respond when someone tried to engage him.