Chapter 6
The next morning, Rowan woke slowly.
For a moment, she didn’t move.
Then she remembered she wasn’t in Los Angeles anymore.
The memories came back all at once.
Thayer. Vince. Wes.
Her eyes closed again as the weight of everything pressed in. Her body still felt heavy from the long drive, but the rest of her didn’t have the luxury of staying still.
She turned toward the window.
Morning light stretched across the room, steady and calm.
Too calm after the night before.
The fire crews had been in touch with them. They’d remained on the property for hours after the flames were finally contained.
By the time Rowan had gone upstairs, the worst of it had been over, but the smell of smoke had still lingered faintly in the air.
An entire acre had burned.
According to Micah, investigators didn’t know what caused it yet.
A shiver worked through her despite the warmth of the room. If Wes hadn’t spotted the smoke when he did, the damage could’ve been so much worse. The thought unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
Because fires didn’t just appear out of nowhere.
And neither did fear.
For a moment, she let herself believe that maybe today would be different. Maybe things would settle.
The thought felt fragile, but she held onto it anyway.
She pushed herself up, the blanket slipping to her lap as her gaze drifted toward the nightstand.
A Bible sat there.
She hadn’t noticed it last night.
Of course, it was there. This had been Sarah’s house.
Faith had always been part of this place, woven into it in a way that didn’t demand attention but never disappeared either.
Rowan stared at the Bible.
She hadn’t opened one in years. Not really.
The realization landed harder than she expected.
She would still call herself a Christian if someone asked. Still would say she believed. But belief had become something distant, something she carried in name more than in practice.
Hollywood had made that easy.
Busy schedules. Late nights. Early mornings. Constant pressure to move forward, to chase the next opportunity. Everything was external—the focus on looks, appearances, image projections.
Meanwhile, internally, everything had felt rotten.
White-washed tombs . . . pretty on the outside but inwardly full of decay.
Was that what she’d become?
If she were honest, she’d admit her faith had slipped quietly into the background, pushed aside by things that felt more immediate and more necessary at the time.
Now . . . now those decisions felt like a mistake.
Rowan reached for the Bible before she could talk herself out of it. The leather cover felt familiar in her hands, even after all this time.
She opened it at random, her fingers brushing over the thin pages before settling.
She read the words. “Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”
She stilled. The verse settled deeper than she expected, cutting through the noise that had been building in her head since she left California.
Do the right thing. Even when it’s hard. Even when it cost something.
That was what her mom had always taught her.
Rowan let out a slow breath.
She didn’t know what doing the right thing looked like yet. She didn’t know what the right step was—not with everything tangled.
But she also knew avoiding what had happened wasn’t the answer.
She closed the Bible and set it back on the nightstand, her fingers lingering on the cover a second before she pulled away.
Her phone sat beside it. Dread filled her. But she couldn’t avoid her messages forever.
She picked it up, and the screen lit. Notifications flooded in. Messages. Missed calls. Alerts.
Her stomach tightened as she unlocked it.
The first thing that loaded wasn’t a text.
It was a news alert—about her.
She’d set them up months ago with her name as a keyword, back when she’d thought staying visible was the same as staying relevant.
Actress Rowan King Missing From Set—
Production Sources Raise Concerns
Her breath caught.
She tapped the article before she could stop herself.
The image at the top was from a red-carpet event last year. She remembered forcing herself through that night—smiling for cameras so long her cheeks hurt, answering probing questions, pretending she wasn’t exhausted.
Now, looking at the photo again, she could see that her smile looked strained. Her face was pale and drawn. Her eyes appeared distant, almost hollow.
The picture made her look like someone unraveling.
Her chest tightened as she scanned the opening lines.
Sources close to the production of Silent Witness report that actress Rowan King has disappeared without explanation, prompting concern among crew members and production staff.
While representatives have not released an official statement, insiders suggest King had been under increasing pressure in recent weeks over the intense, demanding role she’d taken on for the film . . .
Rowan’s grip tightened on the phone.
Pressure. That was how Vince was framing it. Because certainly he was the one who’d set this all in motion.
Another line caught her attention.
Some sources have raised questions about King’s recent behavior, describing it as “erratic” in the days leading up to her disappearance.
Her stomach dropped.
What? That wasn’t true. She’d acted like herself.
Rowan lowered the phone, her pulse picking up again, faster and sharper now.
This was how destruction started. Not with outright accusations. It started with just enough truth to plant the idea and make people question things.
Her phone buzzed again in her hand. More messages. She couldn’t deal with them right now.
Rowan closed her eyes a second to steady herself.
How long before it got worse? How long before the story turned completely against her? How long before someone at Refuge Cove saw these headlines?
And underneath it all, one question pressed harder than the rest.
What was she going to do about it? Because she couldn’t stick her head in the sand forever. She would eventually have to deal with this.
Wes sat at the small table near the window in his room at Hollow House Bed and Breakfast, a mug of coffee within reach and his phone in his hand.
This part of his morning rarely changed. Bible first. That was how he started his day right. Then headlines.
Curiosity didn’t drive him to the news updates so much as habit and awareness. He liked to know what was happening beyond whatever job he was working. His father, a successful businessman, had instilled that habit in him.
Most days, none of the headlines stuck.
Today he couldn’t say that.
One in particular had caught his attention.
It was about Rowan. How she’d gone missing. How people were worried.
Wes read the article once, then he read it again, slower this time, taking in the phrasing and the tone as much as the content.
Abruptly left. Concern from the crew. Pressure. Erratic behavior.
He leaned back in his chair, his jaw tightening.
Rowan hadn’t just taken a break or stepped away for a few days.
She’d run.
That fit what he’d already seen. It explained her sudden appearance here and her skittishness.
But it didn’t give him a why. And the why was always the most important part.
Wes set his phone on the table, then picked it up again almost immediately. He pulled up Rowan’s name and number. He didn’t even know if this was her current phone number or if she’d changed it.
He started to call her, to ask questions, to make sure she was aware of the headlines.
Just as quickly, he stopped himself.
Calling Rowan right now wasn’t the correct move. If she hadn’t spoken up yet, pushing her into it wouldn’t help. It would only make her shut down, and he had no interest in forcing that kind of reaction out of her.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he considered what he did know.
Rowan was here, and she hadn’t come back without a reason. Everything about the situation pointed in the same direction—that whatever she’d left behind in Hollywood was continuing to haunt her now.
He frowned and glanced at his dog. Remington lay stretched out near the table, head lifted now, watching him with steady focus.
Wes reached down and rested his hand against the dog’s neck, grounding himself in Remington’s slick fur and solid presence. The routine of that contact helped clear his head enough to move forward instead of circling the same thoughts.
Remington had a way of doing that. Most people thought that Wes had rescued Remington. The truth was that Remington had rescued him in so many ways.
He stood and grabbed his keys, mentally running through the plan as he started toward the door. He’d already told Caleb he’d be back today to take measurements and look more closely at the expansion area. That had been part of the job from the start.
Now the urgency felt different.
It felt personal . . . even though it wasn’t.
Rowan wasn’t his to worry about anymore.
Yet he knew that wouldn’t stop him.