Chapter 8
Ellie
The storm doesn’t leave the way it arrived. It lingers, sulking over the mountain, making the cabin feel like an island. The next morning the world outside is white and quiet, the kind of quiet that usually feels peaceful until you realize quiet can also mean watching.
Wyatt moves through the cabin like he hasn’t slept. Not frantic. Not sloppy. Controlled in that way that makes my skin prickle because control this tight always has teeth under it.
He checks the back door twice. He checks the windows. He checks the locks. Then he checks the tree line through the glass like he can burn holes in it with his eyes. Jake follows him like a loyal shadow every step of the way.
I stand in the doorway of the bedroom in his flannel, arms crossed, trying to pretend my pulse isn’t still racing from the sound last night—metal against wood—like someone testing my boundaries the way Graham used to, only this time the boundary is Wyatt’s door.
“You’re pacing,” I say.
Wyatt doesn’t look at me. “I’m thinking.”
“That looks like pacing.”
He turns his head then, slow. “Do you want me to sit down and pretend nothing happened?”
I swallow. “No.”
“Then let me work.”
There’s no softness in it. No apology. Just a command dressed up as logic.
My mouth opens anyway because I’m me. “You don’t have to talk to me like I’m—”
“Ellie.” He says my name like a warning. Like a leash. “Stop.”
The single word lands hard enough to shut my mouth.
Wyatt holds my gaze for a beat, then his eyes drag down my body—flannel, bare legs, the fact I still don’t have my clothes—and he looks away like it costs him.
He grabs his phone from the counter and checks it again, thumb moving fast.
“You hear from Ethan?” I ask.
“Not yet.”
“Maybe it was just the storm.”
Wyatt’s gaze snaps back to mine, sharp. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Minimize.”
I flinch, because it’s too accurate. Because minimizing is how I survived Graham. If I pretended it wasn’t that bad, then I didn’t have to admit how trapped I’d been. If I joked, if I downplayed, if I called it a misunderstanding, then I could keep moving without falling apart.
Wyatt watches my face like he can see the exact moment the truth hits.
“I’m fine,” I say automatically.
He takes one step toward me. “No, you’re not.”
I lift my chin. “I’m standing.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
It’s infuriating—how he can be controlling and right at the same time.
I cross my arms tighter. “I’m not going to be some damsel who—”
Wyatt closes the space between us until I’m backed into the doorframe. He doesn’t touch me. He doesn’t have to. His presence does it. His gaze does it. The heat of him does it.
“You’re not a damsel,” he says, voice low. “You’re stubborn as hell. That’s why you’re still standing. But you’re going to stop pretending this is small.”
My throat tightens. “You don’t get to tell me—”
A knock hits the front door. Hard. Not storm-noise. Human.
Wyatt’s head turns instantly. His whole body shifts, the calm snapping into something more lethal. He gestures at me with two fingers—stay—then moves toward the door without a sound.
He opens it a crack.
Ethan stands there in ranger gear, snow dusting his shoulders. Maddie is beside him, beanie pulled low, cheeks pink from cold, eyes bright and sharp like she’s been awake for hours and chose violence for breakfast.
Ethan’s gaze scans past Wyatt into the cabin. “Morning.”
Wyatt opens the door wider. “You find anything?”
Ethan steps in, boots scraping snow. “Tracks are faint, but they’re there. Whoever it was knows how to move without leaving a clear trail.”
My stomach drops. “So it wasn’t the storm.”
Maddie walks in like she lives here, eyes going straight to me. “Hi, mail-order bride.”
“I’m not a—” I start.
Maddie’s mouth quirks. “Sure.”
Wyatt shuts the door behind them, locking it with a heavy click. “Talk,” he says to Ethan.
Ethan nods toward the window. “They stayed off the main paths. Cut across rock, used tree cover, kept to wind direction. That’s someone who doesn’t want to be found.”
Wyatt’s jaw tightens. “How close.”
“Close enough to test your lock,” Ethan says, calm but grim. “And close enough to watch the windows.”
My skin prickles, the hair on my arms lifting under the flannel. I force a laugh that comes out wrong. “That’s… comforting.”
Maddie turns to me, eyes narrowing. “Okay, listen. You’re not doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“That fake laugh thing you do when you’re scared,” she says, blunt. “Stop it.”
Heat flashes in my cheeks—anger and embarrassment. “I’m fine.”
Maddie’s eyes stay on mine. “No. You’re not. And we’re not doing the ‘Ellie’s fine’ show anymore. You want this to end? You start acting like it’s real.”
Wyatt’s gaze flicks to Maddie, then to me, like he’s silently approving her approach.
I hate that.
Ethan steps closer to Wyatt, voice lower. “If this is her ex, he’s not just using paperwork. He’s escalating.”
Wyatt’s eyes go dark. “I know.”
Maddie points at the couch. “Sit.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Sit,” she repeats, like she’s talking to a dog she likes but doesn’t trust. “And give me your phone.”
My spine stiffens. “No.”
Maddie’s brow lifts. “Okay, then keep being alone in this. Great plan.”
Wyatt’s voice cuts in, calm. “Ellie.”
I glare at him. “Don’t.”
His eyes hold mine. “Give her the phone.”
The way he says it—flat, certain—does something annoying to my body. My pulse jumps. My stomach flips. Like my nervous system is wired to respond when he takes control.
I hate it. I do.
I also… don’t.
I shove my phone into Maddie’s hand and drop onto the couch with a dramatic sigh because if I don’t act annoyed, I’ll start acting scared.
Maddie scrolls with fast, efficient movements. “Okay. We’re going to do this like grown-ups who want to survive men like that.”
Ethan’s gaze shifts to me, steadier. “You have to stop protecting him with silence.”
My jaw tightens. “I’m not protecting him.”
Maddie doesn’t look up. “You are. Minimizing protects him. Embarrassment protects him. Pretending it was ‘just a bad relationship’ protects him.”
Wyatt’s gaze lands on me like a weight.
I swallow. “It wasn’t—” I stop, because the words get stuck behind my teeth.
Wyatt’s voice goes quiet. “Tell them.”
I snap my gaze up. “I don’t owe—”
“You owe yourself,” Maddie interrupts. “Now. What does he have on you?”
I let out a sharp breath. “A loan.”
Ethan’s eyes narrow slightly. “Your business.”
“My shop,” I correct. The words come out bitter. “He financed it. Then he made sure I never forgot it.”
Maddie’s mouth twists. “Of course he did.”
I force my voice steady. “He accelerated the foreclosure. Changed the locks. Restricted my accounts.”
Maddie’s head lifts finally. “Restricted your accounts?”
I nod once, jaw clenched. “It’s like… like he pushed buttons I didn’t even know existed. I went to log in and everything was frozen.”
Wyatt’s hands curl at his sides, the only sign of anger he lets himself show. “He’s isolating you.”
Ethan nods. “It’s a tactic. Cut off resources, cut off movement.”
Maddie’s eyes sharpen. “And make you run back to him.”
My throat tightens. “He texted me like he was doing me a favor.”
Wyatt’s voice goes low, ugly. “What did he say.”
I hesitate, pride screaming.
Maddie doesn’t let me stall. “Say it.”
I exhale. “He said… ‘Don’t make this ugly. I tried to handle it quietly. You’re welcome.’”
Wyatt’s jaw flexes hard. His gaze goes distant for a second like he’s imagining Graham’s throat in his hand.
Maddie’s expression doesn’t change, but her voice goes softer. “That’s control dressed as kindness.”
I swallow. “He said I signed my life away.”
Ethan’s eyes flick to Wyatt. “Paper matters,” he says quietly. “You were right.”
Wyatt doesn’t respond. He’s watching me, the way he watched me last night in the dark when I challenged him and he said he wasn’t going to ruin me like it was a promise and a threat.
Maddie sets my phone down on the coffee table and points at me. “New rule. You document everything. Texts. Emails. Voicemails. Dates. Times. Screenshots. You save it in two places. And you stop deleting things because you don’t want to look at them.”
I shift. “I don’t delete—”
Maddie’s eyes narrow. “Ellie.”
I exhale, annoyed because she’s right. I deleted things. Not because I wanted to protect him, but because seeing his words made my stomach turn. Because I wanted to pretend I could wipe him away.
Maddie continues, firm. “Second rule. You stop calling it ‘drama.’ You stop calling it ‘mess.’ It’s harassment.”
Wyatt’s gaze stays locked on my face. “He threatened you.”
I swallow. “He’s not… overt. He’s—”
“Smart,” Ethan cuts in. “He’s careful.”
Maddie leans forward, elbows on her knees. “Careful men are the worst. They make you look crazy while they ruin your life in spreadsheets.”
Heat flashes behind my eyes—anger, humiliation. “I’m not crazy.”
“I know,” Maddie says immediately. “But he wants everyone else to think you are.”
Wyatt moves behind the couch. I feel him there before I see him, like my body senses him the way it senses heat. His hand lands on the back cushion behind my shoulder, not touching me, but close enough that I feel claimed.
Maddie watches it and smirks. “Cute.”
Wyatt’s voice goes flat. “Focus.”
“I am focused,” Maddie says, unbothered. Then she looks at Ethan. “Tell him.”
Ethan nods. “There are spots around this cabin where someone could watch without leaving easy prints. Rock outcroppings. Wind cover.”
My stomach twists. “So… he could’ve been here more than once.”
Wyatt’s voice drops. “Yes.”
The way he says it makes my skin go cold.
Maddie stands, brisk. “Okay. You and I are going to go through your phone together. We’re going to make a file. We’re going to write a timeline. And you’re going to tell me the things you keep editing down.”
I glare. “I don’t edit down.”
Maddie smiles sweetly. “You’re adorable.”
Wyatt’s hand slides from the couch to my shoulder. Just a brief squeeze, grounding. Possessive. My pulse jumps.
I look up at him. “Don’t start treating me like a—”
Wyatt leans down, close enough that his breath brushes my ear. “Like mine?”
My entire body stills.
Maddie makes a noise like she’s trying not to laugh. Ethan clears his throat and looks at the window like he suddenly finds snow fascinating.
I swallow hard and force my voice steady. “Like I’m not capable.”
Wyatt’s mouth brushes my ear—not a kiss, not quite, but close enough to make my skin light up. “You’re capable,” he murmurs. “You’re just outnumbered.”
I shiver, and I hate that it isn’t only from fear.
Maddie snatches my phone again. “Great. While you two do whatever that is, I’m doing my job.”
Wyatt straightens, gaze hardening. “We’re not doing anything.”
Maddie’s eyes flick to the flannel. “Sure.”
Wyatt’s jaw ticks. “Maddie.”
She holds up the phone. “I’m going to start with bank emails. Then foreclosure notice. Then the text thread with Mr. Tie-and-a-Punchable-Face.”
My throat tightens. “His name is Graham.”
Maddie’s eyes go bright. “Not anymore.”
We sit at the table, lantern still out even though the power is back, because Wyatt doesn’t trust anything right now. Maddie scrolls, snapping screenshots, making notes on a pad she pulled from her pocket like she came prepared to run an investigation.
Wyatt stands by the window, scanning the treeline like he’s waiting for it to blink.
Minutes pass, tense and quiet except for Maddie’s occasional “Mm-hm” or “Yep, that’s coercion.”
Then she goes still.
Her fingers pause on the screen.
“What,” I say, too sharp.
Maddie’s eyes lift to mine. “When did you get to the cabin yesterday?”
I blink. “Afternoon. Why?”
Maddie turns the phone toward me.
A new message sits at the top of the thread from Graham.
No words.
Just an image.
My stomach drops so hard it hurts.
It’s a photo of me at the cabin window.
In Wyatt’s flannel.
My face turned slightly, like I’m looking out at the snow.
Taken from outside.
From the dark.
My skin goes ice-cold.
Wyatt’s voice cuts through the room, low and lethal. “Ellie.”
I can’t breathe.
Maddie’s voice is calm, but there’s steel under it. “Rangers aren’t the only men who track.”
And behind me, Wyatt’s hand closes around the back of my chair, grip hard enough to shake the wood.
“Now,” he says, voice like a promise, “we hunt him back.”