CHAPTER 5 – Emilia
The cabin is too quiet.
It’s been that way since I dragged Rafe’s stubborn ass back inside last night. Since he collapsed in the woods, since I told myself—again—that he was not my problem.
Except, somehow, he still is.
I exhale slowly, stirring the pot of soup on the stove, watching as the steam curls into the air. The scent of rosemary, garlic, and slow-cooked meat fills the cabin, mingling with the fading smoke from the fireplace. It’s comforting. Familiar.
And yet, I feel on edge.
I glance toward the couch where he sleeps, his body slack with exhaustion. The escape attempt drained whatever fight he had left, and now he’s dead to the world, breathing slow and deep.
His leg is still healing, the bandages fresh from when I cleaned the wound earlier. But it’s not the injury that unsettles me.
It’s the way he looks here.
Like he belongs.
And that thought? Dangerous.
Because men like him don’t belong in places like this.
And I can’t forget that.
I turn back to the soup, stirring slower than necessary, trying to focus on the simple task. The warmth of the fire, the steady bubbling of broth—it should be calming. It should make me feel normal.
It doesn’t.
Because every time I glance toward the couch, my stomach knots tighter.
He’s too still. Too quiet.
I tell myself it’s just exhaustion. That he’s not the kind of man who stays in one place for long.
But then why does the sight of him—battered, bruised, and somehow peaceful—make something shift inside me?
I shake my head. No. Dangerous thoughts.
The spoon scrapes the bottom of the pot, the sound louder than it should be.
I don’t want to get used to this.
I can’t get used to this.
I drag my focus away, muttering under my breath. "Idiot."
Not sure if I mean him or me.
The knock comes hard and fast, shattering the fragile silence of the cabin.
I freeze.
My pulse spikes, and for a split second, my mind goes somewhere darker—somewhere worse.
It’s not them.
It can’t be. And yet I know it is them. No other person would come up to my place at this time.
I grip the wooden spoon tighter, the edge pressing into my palm. My eyes flick to Rafe, half-expecting him to wake up, to react, but he doesn’t stir.
I breathe out, slow and steady. It’s fine. It’s just—
"EMILIA!"
I flinch.
Shit.
Sienna.
Her voice carries through the wood, loud, impatient, and a little pissed off.
And then, another voice—softer, amused.
"I am taking home my cakes if you don’t open this door now.”
Camila.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
My heart is pounding.
I should have answered their texts. Should have given them some excuse, something to keep them away.
Because I already know how this is going to go.
Sienna will lecture me. Camila will turn this into something ridiculous. And worst of all—they won’t leave.
I cast another glance at Rafe, still unmoving.
If they see him, if they ask too many questions—
I inhale sharply.
I need to get them out. Fast.
The door bursts open.
Sienna strides in first, with Camila on her heels, dripping from the rain, her curls bouncing, coat unbuttoned. She barely even looks at me before launching into her usual lecture.
"Seriously, Em? You disappear all day, don’t answer your goddamn phone, and—"
She stops mid-sentence.
Her eyes land on the couch.
On him.
And she just… stares.
The silence that follows is almost comical.
I watch as Sienna’s brain short-circuits, her mouth opening and closing like she’s trying to find a logical explanation and coming up empty.
Camila, however, makes a tiny gasping noise, like she’s just seen a celebrity in the wild.
And then—
"HOLY. SHIT."
I resist the urge to bang my head against the nearest wall.
"HOOOLY. SHIT."
I groan.
Camila practically sprints across the room, skidding to a stop near the couch, hands clapped over her mouth like she’s just witnessed a miracle.
Sienna is still frozen. Processing. Calculating.
And then, she turns to me, eyes wide, accusatory, and entirely unamused.
"Emilia."
I rub my temples. "Not what it looks like."
It’s exactly what it looks like, but I’ll be damned if I let them run wild with it.
I fold my arms, shifting my weight onto one foot like I’m not feeling backed into a corner.
Sienna doesn’t buy it.
Her eyes narrow, flicking between me and Rafe like she’s solving some kind of mystery.
Camila, on the other hand, is still staring.
Sienna crosses her arms. "Really? Because it looks like you picked up a half-naked, ridiculously hot stray and decided to keep him."
Camila makes a soft, dreamy sound.
"Oh my God," she whispers. "This is better than I ever could have imagined."
Sienna finally snaps out of her shock, stepping closer. "Em, what the actual hell?"
I sigh. "It’s a long story."
Camila grins. "Oh, we have time."
Sienna’s eyes narrow. "Who is he?"
"Rafe."
Camila swoons.
"Of course it is."
Sienna rolls her eyes so hard I’m surprised she doesn’t sprain something.
"And what, exactly, is Rafe doing unconscious on your couch?"
I cross my arms. "Recovering."
"From what?"
I hesitate. "An injury."
Sienna scowls. "What kind of injury?"
"Uh… a bullet wound."
Sienna makes a noise that is somewhere between a gasp and a strangled yell.
"A BULLET WOUND?!"
I wince. "Okay, can you not scream that at full volume?"
Camila is practically vibrating. "Oh my God. Emilia. You picked up a hot, wounded, mysterious man with a gunshot wound and didn’t tell us?"
"Not with a gunshot wound," I mutter. "He didn’t bring it, he got it."
Sienna throws up her hands. "Oh, well that makes so much difference."
A long pause.
Then
"EMILIA."
I hold up a hand. "Before you freak out—"
"TOO LATE."
Camila gasps, delighted. "Oh my god. He’s a criminal, isn’t he?"
Sienna shoots her a look. "Not the point, Cam."
"It kind of is!" Camila gestures dramatically. "A wounded stranger? A mysterious past? This is literally one of my books."
Sienna pinches the bridge of her nose. "It’s not a book, it’s real life. And Emilia, he could be dangerous."
"I know that."
"Then why the hell did you bring him here?"
I hesitate.
Because I don’t have an answer.
Sienna sighs dramatically, rubbing her temples as she perches on the arm of the couch.
"Em, I get it, you have a compulsive need to fix people, but do you even know anything about him?"
I swallow, glancing at Rafe.
His face is still relaxed in sleep, but even now, there’s something about him—something edged in steel, even unconscious.
The sharp cut of his jaw, the dark stubble shadowing his face, the scars etched into his skin. His entire presence exudes danger, even like this.
Something about him should terrify me.
And yet…
I shift, suddenly uncomfortable.
"I wasn’t just going to leave him there," I say, crossing my arms. "He was dying."
Sienna shakes her head. "You and your damn hero complex."
Camila, meanwhile, is circling the couch like a cat stalking prey.
I swear to God, she’s studying him.
She tilts her head, inspecting his arms, his chest, her eyes slightly narrowed like she’s trying to memorize every detail.
"You know," she says slowly, "if I were writing this book, this is where I’d add some really good tension. Maybe a forced proximity trope. Oh! Or an ‘only one bed’ scenario—"
"Camila," I warn.
She grins. "Relax. Just appreciating the view."
"Appreciate from a distance."
Her dark eyes are locked onto Rafe’s exposed torso, lips pursed in deep concentration, like she’s studying a work of art.
Before I can stop her, she lifts a hand.
Her fingers hover near his hard-cut abdomen, as if she’s debating whether she could get away with touching him.
I slap her wrist away.
"Camila!" I hiss.
She giggles, completely unrepentant.
"What?" she says, tossing her dark curls over her shoulder. "If I found this man half-dead in a storm, I’d have saved him too."
Sienna rolls her eyes. "You read too much dark romance."
Camila ignores her, her smirk turning wicked as she nudges me.
"Okay, be honest," she says, her voice dropping conspiratorially. "You think he’s hot, don’t you?"
I freeze.
Heat flashes through my body so fast it makes my head spin.
"No."
Sienna snorts.
Camila smirks.
"Liar."
My mouth opens and closes uselessly.
This is not happening.
Camila gives me a knowing look before sighing dramatically, dragging her gaze back to the unconscious man on my couch.
"God, imagine waking up to that every morning," she muses. "You think his voice is as sexy as the rest of him?"
I groan, rubbing my hands over my face. "Please, for the love of everything, leave."
Camila grins but finally steps back.
Sienna rolls her eyes but nudges her toward the door. "Come on, let’s go before Emilia dies of secondhand embarrassment."
They both pause at the door, looking back at me.
"Send for us as soon as he’s up and moving," Sienna says, wagging a finger. "I need to know how this whole ‘nursing a sexy dangerous man back to health’ trope plays out."
Camila winks. "And I need to see him with his shirt off again."
I shove them out the door.
"Goodbye!"
The door slams shut behind them, and I sag against it, pressing my forehead to the wood, letting out a long, mortified breath.
Jesus Christ.
I am never inviting them over again.
"So… you like me?"
I freeze.
My entire body goes rigid, heart slamming against my ribs.
Oh. My. God.
I turn slowly, my stomach twisting into a thousand knots.
Rafe is awake.
His blue eyes glint with amusement, his lips curled into the laziest, cockiest smirk I’ve ever seen.
The smirk of a man who has been very awake for a while.
I forget how to breathe.
For a solid three seconds, my brain simply refuses to process what’s happening.
He’s awake. He heard everything.
And judging by that lazy, arrogant smirk, he is enjoying every second of my humiliation.
I consider throwing the soup at him.
Instead, I force my face into something that isn’t sheer panic and clear my throat.
"You were supposed to be asleep."
Rafe stretches, rolling his shoulders, completely unbothered.
"Hard to sleep when three women are standing around talking about my abs."
I want to die.
My entire body erupts in flames.
"We weren’t—!"
He lifts an eyebrow. "No?"
I snap my mouth shut, rage, humiliation, and something else I don’t want to name twisting inside me.
That’s when Camila’s words from earlier come back to haunt me.
"You think his voice is as sexy as the rest of him?"
The answer?
Yes.
God, yes.
His voice is low and deep, dark as sin, edged with roughness like he’s never had a reason to speak softly.
It’s the kind of voice that belongs to a man who gives orders.
A man who doesn’t just walk into a room—he owns it.
And he is watching me like he owns me too.
The way he looks at me sends something sharp and electric down my spine.
I tell myself it’s irritation. Annoyance. The need to wipe that look off his face.
But deep down, I know better.
His eyes flicker over me, taking in the way my breath hitches, the way my hands stay clenched at my sides.
He notices.
And the worst part?
I think he likes it.
I turn on my heel, fleeing into the kitchen before I do something stupid.
Like let him see just how much he’s affecting me.
I swallow hard. "That was Camila!"
Rafe just hums, his smirk deepening.
"She seemed very enthusiastic."
Oh, for the love of—
I throw my hands up. "I hate you."
His lips twitch.
And then—his gaze dips.
Over the curve of my throat.
The rapid rise and fall of my chest.
The way my hands are still fisted at my sides, like I don’t know what to do with them.
My stomach tightens.
Because suddenly, he isn’t just teasing anymore.
Suddenly, he is looking at me.
Like I am something he wants.
Like I am something he already has.
My breath catches.
I turn on my heel, marching into the kitchen, desperate for distance.
I pretend I don’t hear his soft, knowing chuckle behind me.
And I pretend it doesn’t send a shiver down my spine.