6. A Hill Station
816 Words
A hillstation
~CATALINA~
“I can walk on my own,” I tried, my voice trembling.
He didn’t answer. His hand only tightened around my wrist, heat burning into my skin, and something in his silence told me I shouldn’t push him further.
My slippers scuffed against the polished floor, the echo of our movements chasing us through the silence. The occasional guards who passed scrambled out of the way the second they saw us, clearing the path for him.
The door to my room flew open with one forceful twist of his hand. He shoved it wide and pulled me inside as though I weighed nothing. The familiar warmth of my space vanished the moment he stepped in, his presence filling it, consuming it.
He dragged me straight to the closet and let go of me only to yank the doors open. His gaze moved quickly, precise, before his hand shot forward and pulled out one of the sheer dresses—the kind that clung to skin, with a neckline that left nothing to the imagination.
“No.” The word slipped out before I could stop it.
His head turned, slow, deliberate. That look—sharp enough to cut—pinned me where I stood.
“What did you say?” His voice was low. Lethal.
My heart thrashed painfully. I shook my head quickly. “I… I just can’t wear that.”
“You can,” he said flatly, stepping closer, the dress hanging from his hand like a sentence. “It’s like the same dresses you used to wear.”
Yes. The same dresses she used to wear.
“Isn’t it, Camila?” His voice dropped on her name, the sound sending a shiver down my spine.
Why is he suddenly acting like this?
He stepped forward and I backed away, my calves bumping against the vanity chair. My chest tightened, the room suddenly too small, too cold.
His hands closed around my arms, firm, unyielding. In one swift move, he turned me, and the rasp of the zipper at my back filled my ears.
My eyes widened, panic flaring. I spun around, snatched the dress from his grip, and ran for the bathroom. “I’ll change!”
The door clicked shut behind me, and I braced my hands against the sink, gasping. My reflection stared back, and when I finally put
on the dress, I froze.
I looked like… like a hooker.
But Camila never looked like one.
Was it only me who looked this way?
Then again… the way he said her name made me shudder.
A thought suddenly rose from the darkest depth of my mind.
What if he found out the truth?
No. No, I can’t let that happen. He can’t find out. He can never know.
With that thought steel in my chest, I opened the door—only to stop short.
Ezran was sitting on my bed, casual as always, his long fingers wrapped around my coffee mug.
My coffee.
Did he… drink from it? Heat flooded my cheeks at the thought. God, I hoped he didn’t.
“Not bad,” he said, his gaze flicking over me, lingering.
I swallowed hard.
“Drink your coffee.” He stood, towering, and strode toward the door. “You’ll need that warmth.”
I nearly choked on air.
You’ll need that warmth.
What was he implying?
I didn’t have time to wonder. He was already moving, and I was forced to follow—through the hall, out to the waiting car.
There was no one else. Ezran Vitale was driving himself.
The moment the door shut, the air thickened. The car was too small to contain the space between us, too tight to escape him.
The air conditioner hummed, sharp bursts of icy air stabbing my skin, making me shiver through the thin fabric of my dress. Every chill made me more aware of the heat radiating off him, sitting only an arm’s length away.
My pulse hammered as the city blurred past, and still, the only thing I could feel was the burn of his presence beside me.
And when the car finally slowed, it wasn’t the familiar city lights that greeted me.
It was shadows. Pines stretching tall and black against the sky, their tips swallowing the stars. My breath caught when I saw the faint outline of a cabin, tucked between the trees.
The car jerked to a stop.
The slam of the driver’s door made me jump. In the next moment, my door wrenched open. One second I was seated, the next, the world spun as he pulled me out.
The night air hit me like knives. I gasped, curling into myself, but it didn’t help. The cold was everywhere.
And when I looked up, dread coiled around my chest.
Mountains. Mist. Cold winds everywhere.
This, he… he brought me to a hill station
- Writer
