Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
CHASE
Three Weeks Later - Queenstown, New Zealand
The mountains here don't just rise, they erupt from the earth like the bones of something ancient and holy.
I'm standing on the deck of our rented house, coffee cooling in my hands, watching the Remarkables catch the morning light.
The peaks glow rose-gold against a sky so blue it hurts to look at directly.
Below, Lake Wakatipu stretches like a mirror, reflecting clouds and mountains and the impossible clarity of this place. I've never seen anything like it.
We've been traveling for months now, Paris, Barcelona, Prague, Italy, but New Zealand feels different. It feels fresh. Remote. Like we've reached the edge of the world where no one can find us, where the past doesn't exist, a place Noah and I can simply be.
Except that's not true, is it? Because the past follows us everywhere. Or more accurately, Noah creates it wherever we go.
I take a sip of my coffee and try to focus on the beauty in front of me.
The silver beech forests that climb the mountainsides.
The way the light changes every few minutes, painting the landscape in different shades of green and gold.
The silence. I cannot put into words how the silence here is so profound.
No city noise or crowds. Just the wind and birdsong and the distant sound of water.
I love it here and part of me wishes I could stay forever.
There's a warmth in my chest that's been growing since we arrived three weeks ago. A sense of rightness that has everything to do with what I said to Noah last night.
We'd been sitting by the fireplace where the house has a massive stone hearth that Noah keeps burning even though it's not that cold, and I'd been reviewing my journal entries.
Months of compiling notes and observations about Noah's behavior patterns, his emotional responses (or lack thereof), his methodical approach to “problems.
"I've been thinking," I said, not looking up from my notebook. "About writing a book."
Noah was reading something on his tablet, his face illuminated by the screen's glow. He didn't respond immediately, but his silence felt charged, electric.
"A book about psychopathy," I continued, my voice steady despite the flutter of anticipation in my stomach.
"You know, a clinical approach using case studies that are anonymized, of course. I have years of research, and the travel has given me new perspectives on how antisocial personality disorder manifests across different cultures and contexts."
Noah set down his tablet with careful precision. His eyes lifted to meet mine, like he was trying to scan my brain for further information.
"A book," he repeated, his voice soft, which is not a good sign.
"Yes. I think it could be important work. There's so much misunderstanding about…"
"No."
The single word landed like a whip. I looked at him fully then, trying to read his expression. His face was perfectly still, but there was something in his eyes that gave an intensity that made my pulse spike with desire rather than fear.
"Noah, it wouldn't be about you specifically. I'd never do anything to compromise you."
"No," he said again, and this time there was a dark tone in it. "You're not writing a book, Chase. You're not publishing your observations or sharing anything about what you've seen or what you think you understand."
"I'm a therapist. This is my field…"
"You were a therapist." He stood, moving toward me with that stalking grace that always makes my body respond. "Now you're my husband, and my husband doesn't document me like I'm a fucking case study."
He was right in front of me now, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, smell his skin, feel the magnetic pull of his presence. His hand came up to cup my jaw possessively, giving me exactly what I craved.
"Do you understand me?" he asked quietly, his thumb brushing my lower lip. I should have argued and pointed out that my professional work is separate from our relationship, that I have a right to my career. But I didn't want to.
The truth is, Noah's absolute certainty about what I am, meaning being his, is intoxicating. And somewhere along the way, I stopped wanting anything else.
"I understand," I whispered, leaning into his touch.
“Good. I only want to protect what we have, baby. It’s too much of a risk. What would happen if I get caught and we get separated?”
“I don’t want to even think about that, Noah.”
He'd kissed me then, deep and greedy, leaving only desire and the urge to delve deeper into his mind.
I drain the rest of my coffee and go back inside.
The house is beautiful and nothing like anything I have stayed in before, full of exposed wood beams and floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the mountain views.
Noah chose it specifically for its isolation.
The nearest neighbor is two miles away and the town is a fifteen-minute drive down a winding mountain road.
We're completely alone here, just as we like it.
Together, where the rest of the world has fallen away, leaving only us.
Noah is in the bedroom, getting dressed, so I reach for my phone off the kitchen counter and see two missed calls from Tyler.
My brother has been trying to reach me for a couple weeks and I keep meaning to call him back, keep telling myself I'll do it today, but somehow the days slip by. It's not that I don't want to talk to him, because I do, in a distant sort of way. I miss him, but it’s hard to maintain a relationship when in my situation, even though it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.
I’m fortunate because Tyler understands what I'm living with in a way most people couldn't.
He's with Ivan, a man who's part of the Kozlov mafia family in New York, a mad man with blood on his hands and ice in his veins.
Tyler knows what it's like to love someone dangerous, someone who operates outside the boundaries of normal morality.
He knows what it's like to be claimed so completely that the rest of the world fades to background noise.
When he first met Noah he was confused about the dynamics between us and found Noah uncomfortable to be around.
But not long after he moved to New York, he met Ivan and finally it all made sense to him, where he understands the dynamic better and he understands Noah.
He isn’t part of that world in a way that involves him, as Tyler has kept that human part of himself.
Unlike me….but he still understands the draw to someone like Noah, or in his case Ivan.
I need to call him back as I want to talk to him about the feelings I’m experiencing, because there is no point in talking to Noah as he will only encourage it.
My phone buzzes. A text from Noah, even though he's literally in the next room.
N: Where are you?
Me: Kitchen.
N: Come here.
I roll my eyes at the command as I pocket my phone and head toward the bedroom, that familiar flutter of anticipation mixing with desire in my chest. This is what my life has become, responding to Noah's summons, existing in the orbit of his obsessive need to know where I am and what I'm doing every single moment.
And good luck to anyone who tries to remove me from it.
Three months ago, I went to the grocery store in France, just a quick trip to pick up wine for dinner.
I didn't tell Noah I was leaving, not because I was hiding it, but because I was curious about what would happen, but I knew.
I could feel him watching me the entire time.
He may have stalked me in the past to claim me, but he still stalks me to this day to keep me close.
I was gone maybe forty minutes, but when I got back, Noah was standing in the doorway of our hotel room, his face soft, absent of any expression. How did he get back before me?
"The wine shop on Nerudova Street," he said. "You stopped to look at books in the window of the shop next door, then you walked back along the river."
I'd stared at him, my heart racing.
"I always know where you are, Chase, but you already knew that because you can feel me. I’m part of you." He'd stepped closer, his hand coming up to rest against my cheek. "You can go wherever you want but I'll always be watching.”
Most people I know would find this invasive and controlling, but fuck them.
To me it’s a drug, where the rush of heat is so intense it makes me dizzy.
Noah doesn't demand I ask permission as he simply knows.
He tracks me, follows me, appears when I least expect it, not because he's trying to control my movements, but because he can't help himself.
His need to know where I am, to see me, to confirm my existence in his orbit is so overwhelming that distance becomes irrelevant.
The intoxicating part is that I'm never truly alone because Noah is always there, somewhere in the background, watching, following, making sure I'm safe.
My phone has location sharing enabled. I didn't turn it on, but somehow it's always active.
He knows where I am within a five-mile radius at any given moment.
And fuck me, its such a turn on. The idea that Noah is watching me right now, that he can pull up his phone and see exactly where I am, that he's probably done it a dozen times this morning just to confirm I'm still here, it makes my skin buzz with excitement.
I'm completely and willingly dependent on him.
And I know it. I don't want it to stop.
Noah is fixing his belt on his black jeans when I enter the bedroom.
"Remember we have a visitor coming this afternoon," he says, his voice has that softness again that’s normally a sign of annoyance. Who the hell is coming to visit?
"Who?" I ask, as Noah raises a brow at me, like he cannot believe I don’t remember.
"That woman you met at the market. Jessica."
Shit, I completely forgot.