“This is insane,” I whisper.
But I don’t turn around.
Because insane or not—I’m not staying where I’m being watched.
And something tells me Ethan Cole isn’t the kind of man you call unless you’re already in too deep.
Chapter 4
Maddie
Isee him before he says a word.
The cabin sits exactly where the directions promised it would, tucked into the trees like it belongs there, like it has always been there and always will be. The road up nearly shakes my Jeep apart, gravel spitting under the tires as I push through the last stretch without slowing, even when the path narrows and the trees close in tighter than I like. I keep going anyway. Slowing down feels like hesitation, and hesitation feels like fear, and I am not letting that be the first thing he sees when I get here.
The engine cuts, and the silence that follows is immediate and heavy, like the mountain is listening.
I keep my hands on the wheel for a second longer than I need to, staring through the windshield, forcing my breathing to steady. My pulse is faster than I want it to be, but it is not panic. It is awareness. It is the same feeling I have had for weeks now, the sense that something is just slightly off, just slightly wrong.
Then I open the door and step out.
Cold air hits my skin, sharp and grounding. I don’t waste time. My gaze sweeps the space automatically, the tree line first, then the cabin, then him.
He is leaning against the porch like he has been there all morning, like he knew exactly when I would arrive.
My eyes lock on his.
He doesn’t look away.
Neither do I.
Good.
If he is expecting someone fragile, someone desperate, someone easy, he is about to be disappointed.
I slam the Jeep door harder than necessary, adjust the strap of my camera bag across my body, and square my shoulders before taking a step forward.
“Ethan Cole?” I call, my voice carrying clean through the trees.
He nods once, pushing off the porch post with an ease that feels deliberate, controlled. “You made good time.”
I let out a short breath. “Road’s worse than you said.”
“I told you thirty.”
“And I made it in twenty-five,” I shoot back, because I need the edge in my voice, I need the reminder that I am still in control of something here.
The corner of his mouth lifts slightly, like he expected that answer.
He steps toward me, not rushing, not crowding, just closing the distance one measured step at a time. I feel it before he even gets close, the way the space shifts, the way my body reacts even when I don’t want it to.
“You’re Maddie,” he says.
“Yeah.”
He stops a few feet away, close enough that I can feel his presence, far enough that I don’t have to tilt my head back yet. Up close, it is worse. Stronger. There is something about him that feels…steady. Solid in a way that makes everything else feel a little less so.
“Turn around,” he says.
