Chapter 23
Madeline
The air is warming up, everything shifting toward summer, and the woods behind the lodge smell of pine and damp earth.
I walk slowly, arms folded over the swell of my stomach, letting the rhythm of my steps calm me.
Ben is buried in meetings today, Caroline took Leo into town, and for once, the silence belongs only to me.
It should feel peaceful.
But it doesn’t.
I can’t shake the sense that someone’s watching.
Hugh knows I’m out here, on one of the lesser trails—Bear’s Den—skirting the very edge of the tree line.
He assured me, before I went out with just a water bottle and light jacket, that there are definitely no bears denning around here and the walk takes about 20 minutes at a normal pace.
I’m much slower, crouching down to admire the mushrooms popping up at the base of oaks and the wood asters growing in the gaps.
But there’s something… else. Or someone else.
The trees loom too close, every branch creaking like it’s whispering secrets.
It isn’t the first time I’ve felt it—that prickling crawl along my neck, like unseen eyes on me.
With the sun past noon, long shadows rope across the ground.
I ease my anxiety by telling myself that soon I’ll be sitting down to dinner with Ben. Maybe tempting him back to bed after…
I try to shake it off. Paranoia. That’s what it is. But my feet keep moving faster, crunching through leaves until I reach the narrow trail that winds toward the creek.
“Going for a stroll, Maddie?”
I freeze.
The voice slurs, familiar and unwelcome. My stomach drops before I even turn.
Derrick.
He steps from between two trees like he’s been waiting all along. His dark hair is unkempt, eyes glazed. The smell hits me first—whiskey, sharp and sour, bleeding through the crisp air despite it being barely past noon. His grin is crooked, smug.
“You scared me,” I manage, forcing my voice steady.
“That wasn’t my intention.” He sways slightly, hands stuffed in his jacket pockets. “Or maybe it was.”
My pulse pounds. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people. Especially not me.”
“Why not you?” His eyes slide down, blatant, lingering on the curve of my stomach before flicking back up. “You were mine first.”
The words sink like ice water through me.
“Derrick, don’t.”
He takes a step closer, and the ground between us shrinks too quickly. “You think just because you wear his ring, carry his kid, that erases the truth?” His breath reeks of alcohol when he leans closer. “I kissed you before he ever touched you.”
Anger sparks, hot against the fear. “You kissed me when I didn’t want it. That’s not the same.”
His grin falters, then sharpens. “You didn’t stop me.”
“I was seventeen!” The words rip out of me before I can stop them, voice shaking. “And you were drunk then too. Just like now.”
I’m angry now, back in the barn on my parents’ ranch, scared and waiting while they make a business deal.
While they hand me off like I’m a possession.
Derrick had found me then, and at first he was sweet, making me think that it wouldn’t be so bad—marrying him.
But he’d only come to corner me, to check out what would one day be his, and he’d forced a kiss on my clamped lips.
For a second, he looks almost ashamed. The memory must be washing over him, too. But then the smirk is back, uglier than before. “Doesn’t matter. You’re still mine. If I want you, that is.”
He lunges, one hand grabbing at my wrist, the other fumbling for my waist. I stumble back, panic surging.
“Stop!” I shove at his chest, but he’s taller, heavier, reeking of liquor and entitlement. What the hell is he even doing here? He’s been at the Hall for weeks.
His fingers dig into my arm. “Don’t fight me,” he growls, pressing closer. “We both know you want this. You’ve always wanted me—”
“No!” The word rips out of me, loud enough to startle a crow from a nearby branch. Rage floods in, stronger than fear. I twist hard, freeing one arm, and without thinking, I swing.
My fist connects squarely with his nose.
The crack is sickening, followed by Derrick’s howl as he stumbles back, hands flying to his face. Blood gushes between his fingers, dripping onto the forest floor.
“You bitch!” he slurs, voice muffled.
My chest heaves, adrenaline burning. I glare down at him, shaking but unbroken. “Don’t you ever touch me again.”
I turn, storming away down the path. My legs tremble, but I force them forward, step after step.
“Maddie!” Derrick calls, his voice thick, furious, but weaker now; full of regret, like he’s sobering up. I don’t look back.
I’m halfway to the lodge when I hear it—branches shifting, footsteps not my own, and they’re moving fast. I whirl around—
And see Ben.
He’s standing at the edge of the trail, arms crossed, eyes locked on me. Not on Derrick, not on the blood-spattered leaves, but on me. His jaw is granite, his whole body vibrating with restrained fury.
He saw.
My breath catches. “Ben—”
His gaze cuts toward the trees where Derrick still stumbles, clutching his nose. When Ben speaks, his voice is low, lethal. “I should kill him.”
“No!” I go to him instinctively, putting myself between my husband and the one thing that could ruin his life, bury him in regret. “Don’t. Please.”
“He put his hands on you.” The words grind through his teeth. “He touched my wife—pregnant with my child—and you expect me to let that go?”
I swallow hard, forcing my voice steady. “He’s drunk. He doesn’t mean—”
“Don’t defend him.”
“I’m not!” My throat tightens. “I just… I don’t want this to explode. If you confront him, if you drag this out, he’ll twist it. He’ll make himself the victim, like he always does.”
Ben’s eyes are fire, locked on Derrick still visible in the distance. His fists clench at his sides.
I step closer, laying a trembling hand on his arm. “Please. For me. Let it go—for now. You know him. He runs. That’s what he does. Let him run.”
His chest heaves, muscles taut under my fingers. For a long moment, I think he’ll ignore me, storm after his son, and end it with blood.
But then he exhales, long and sharp, and turns back to me. His hand finds mine, gripping too tightly, protective, and desperate. “If he comes near you again, I won’t stop myself.”
“I know.” My voice cracks. “I know.”
We walk back together in silence. His hand never leaves mine, his stride always half a step closer than usual, like he’s shielding me from shadows.
But his face is closed off, colder than I’ve seen it in weeks.
And inside, as much as I cling to the relief of escaping Derrick’s grip, another fear takes root.
Because part of me prays Derrick really will disappear, that this will strip him of any credibility. That if I finally tell Ben about Jack, about the marriage I kept hidden, Derrick’s word won’t matter.
But looking at Ben’s profile now, carved in stone as he leads me back to the lodge, I can’t help but wonder—
Even if Derrick vanishes, what will Ben do when the truth comes from me?