Maddie
The cabin smells like cedar and heat.
Like him.
I stand just inside the doorway, arms crossed, watching Ethan move like he owns every inch of space—which, apparently, he does.
He doesn’t look back at me right away. Just shrugs out of his jacket, sets it on the back of a chair, moves toward the counter like I’m already accounted for.
Like me being here is a done deal. The moment I saw him I wondered why he’d posted an ad for a bride, but now I know.
He’s controlling, detached, downright bossy and rubs me all the wrong ways. And maybe a few of the right ones.
“You always this… welcoming?” I ask.
His mouth twitches, but he doesn’t turn. “You always this difficult?”
“I don’t like being told what to do.”
“Then you picked the wrong place to run to.”
I push off the door, boots thudding against the floor as I step farther inside. “I didn’t run.”
That gets his attention. He turns slowly, eyes dragging over me in a way that feels like a hand—heavy, deliberate, impossible to ignore.
“You showed up on my mountain scared and alone, offering to be my bride,” he says. “Call it whatever you want.”
My spine stiffens. “I’m handling it.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs. “That what you call finding photos of yourself left outside your door?”
I hate that he knows that. I hate that it still makes my stomach twist.
“I had a plan,” I say.
His brow lifts. “Yeah? What was it?”
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out. Because I don’t have one. Not a real one.
His gaze sharpens, like he’s watching the realization land in real time.
“Thought so,” he says.
I step closer, refusing to let him have the upper hand that easily. “I didn’t come here to be talked down to.”
“And I didn’t invite you here to play games.”
We’re closer now. Too close.
The air shifts—tight, charged, like something’s about to snap.
“Then maybe you should’ve said no,” I fire back.
His eyes darken.
“Not how this works.”
“Oh?” I tilt my head. “And how does it work, exactly?”
He takes a step toward me.
Just one. But it’s enough.
Enough that I have to fight the instinct to step back.
“You come onto my land,” he says, voice dropping, “you follow my rules.”
I let out a short laugh. “That’s not how real life works, Ranger.”
Another step.
Now there’s nowhere to go unless I move.
I don’t.
“You think this is real life?” he asks quietly.
My breath catches.
Damn him.
“Feels real enough to me,” I say.
“Someone’s tracking you,” he says, voice flat now. “Watching you. Getting close enough to leave things behind.”
I hold his gaze. “I know.”
“Then stop acting like you’re in control.”
“I am in control,” I snap.
His jaw ticks.
And then he closes the distance.
One step.
Two.
Until he’s right there.
Close enough that I feel the heat of him, the weight of his presence pressing in on all sides.
“Then stop acting like prey.”
The words hit low.
Hard.
My pulse jumps, heat flaring through me—anger, adrenaline… something sharper.
“I’m not prey,” I bite out.
His gaze drops slowly.
To my mouth.
Then back up.
“Then prove it.”
My fingers curl at my sides. God, he’s infuriating.
“You don’t get to talk to me like that,” I say, but my voice isn’t as steady as I want it to be.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m—” I gesture between us, frustration boiling over. “Like I belong to you.”
Silence. A long, heavy beat.
Then his expression shifts.
Subtle.
Dangerous.
“You don’t,” he says.
Relief flickers because he’s not done.
“Not yet.”
My breath stutters. Heat floods my chest, sharp and confusing.
“That’s not funny,” I snap.
“I’m not joking.”
Of course he’s not.
I step back this time, breaking the space between us before I do something stupid—like lean into him instead of away.
“I’m not staying here under your control,” I say.
“You already are.”
“No,” I shake my head.
“Yes. That’s the deal. Be my bride. Be protected.”
“Temporary. This is just temporary until I figure this out.”
“You’re not figuring anything out alone.”
“I’ve been alone this whole time,” I shoot back.
“And how’s that working for you?”
I grit my teeth. “Better than being ordered around like—”
“Like what?” he presses.
“Like I can’t think for myself.”
He studies me for a second. Then nods once. “Fine.”
The word surprises me. I blink. “Fine?”
“You think for yourself,” he says. “You decide to walk out that door alone—” he gestures behind me, “—you won’t make it ten minutes before whoever’s out there gets what he came for.”
My stomach drops. “That’s not—”
“It is,” he cuts in. “You’re already compromised.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means he knows your patterns,” Ethan says. “Knows where you stay. Knows when you’re alone.”
My fingers tighten. “That doesn’t mean I need you controlling every move I make.”
“It means you need someone who knows how to hunt him.”
The silence is heavy because that’s what this is.
A hunt.
And somehow, I’m in the middle of it.
“You don’t trust me,” I say.
His mouth curves slightly. “No.”
I huff out a breath. “Good. Because I don’t trust you either.”
“Smart.”
“Then why am I here?”
He watches me for a second.
Long enough that my skin starts to feel too tight.
“Because you knew I’d be better than your other options,” he says finally.
I hate that he’s right.
Again.
“I don’t like this,” I admit.
His gaze sharpens. “You’re not supposed to.”
I swallow hard, forcing my voice steady. “So what, I just—stay here? Do what you say? Wait for you to fix it?”
“For now? Yeah.”
I shake my head. “That’s not happening.”
His brow lifts. “No?”
“No.”
I step forward this time, closing the distance, pushing back into his space. “I don’t take orders,” I say. “I don’t sit around and wait. And I sure as hell don’t let some man I just met decide what I can and can’t do.”
The corner of his mouth lifts again, amused. Like he likes the fight.
“Good,” he murmurs.
My stomach flips. “What?”
“I’d be bored if you did.”
Before I can respond, his hand lifts.
He doesn’t touch me.
But it’s close.
Too close.
My breath catches anyway.
“You don’t like being told what to do,” he says, voice low. “Then don’t make me tell you twice.”
My pulse spikes. “That sounds like a threat.”
“It’s a promise.”
God.
This man.
I drag in a breath, trying to steady myself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re still here.”
I hate that he keeps saying that.
Because it’s true.
Because I haven’t left.
Because something in me—
Despite everything—
Doesn’t want to.
“Fine,” I say finally. “Your rules. For now.”
His gaze flickers. Interest. Approval. Possession.
It sends heat crawling up my spine.
“Say it again,” he says.
My eyes narrow. “Excuse me?”
“Say it again,” he repeats. “So we’re clear.”
I stare at him. God, I want to fight him on this. Push back harder. Walk out just to prove I can. But the image of that photograph flashes in my mind.
The feeling of being watched.
Of not being alone.
“Your rules,” I say, slower this time. “For now.”
Silence stretches between us.
Then he nods once. “Good.”
And just like that, something shifts.
Not softer. Not easier. But settled. Defined.
The lines are drawn.
The power sits between us, sharp and undeniable.
And for the first time since I got here—I know exactly where I stand.
Right in the middle of something I’m not sure I can walk away from.