17
1570 Words
The forest air felt heavier with every step. Warm damp leaves clung to the path under my feet, and shadows twisted over one another like moving shapes. I kept turning in circles because I was certain I had just stood in this exact spot. The same tree with the split roots. The same low hanging leaves brushing my shoulder. Every direction looked identical.
My pulse raced again. Too loud. Too fast.
“Chase,” I called.
The trees swallowed the sound.
I tried again, louder, voice cracking. “Chase.”
Nothing.
Only the distant murmur of the ocean, too faint to guide me.
I fumbled for my phone with shaking fingers. When I lifted it, the screen glowed weakly. One bar. Then none. The signal flickered like a candle fighting wind. A small gasp escaped my throat.
The panic returned with familiar claws.
The flash of cameras.
The ringing in my ears.
The feeling of the world pressing inward.
Eyes everywhere.
Breath nowhere.
I pressed a hand over my chest, forcing myself to breathe. In. Out. Slow. But the forest made the air feel thick. The shadows around me shifted like they were leaning closer.
“Chase,” I tried again, but his name sounded like a whisper of fear.
My breath became shallow. My fingers tingled. The world felt too far away from me, like I was floating outside my own body. I took a step back and stumbled. My heel caught on something. I fell forward, catching myself with both hands, brushing away leaves clinging to my palms.
The sound of rushing water reached my ears.
I looked up.
Just beyond the trees, the land dipped into a small clearing. Light spilled through the canopy like golden threads, illuminating falling water. A waterfall. Small, but beautiful. It cascaded over smooth stones into a pool so clear it reflected the sky like glass.
The sight pulled me forward like a magnet. I needed the sound of water. It grounded me. I moved slowly toward it, one step at a time, trying to calm the storm in my lungs.
The falls rushed with a steady rhythm. The pool shimmered. Birds chirped high above. The world looked peaceful here, even though my body was shaking.
“Miss Cassandra.”
I spun.
Keoni stood a few feet away, holding a crate of fruit against his hip, eyes wide with concern. Sweat beaded on his forehead, darkening the edges of his shirt. He must have come through a side path with supplies.
“Are you alright,” he asked, setting the crate down. He approached slowly, like he was careful not to frighten me.
Relief flooded my chest. My throat tightened painfully. “I got lost,” I whispered.
He nodded, expression soft. “I heard you shouting. We use this path sometimes for deliveries. Come. Let me take you back. Alpha Chase looks like he will break his phone in half.”
My heart jerked.
“He is angry,” I whispered.
Keoni shrugged lightly. “Angry. And scared. Those two look the same on him.”
I swallowed hard, trying to absorb that sentence.
Scared.
Not just angry.
We started walking. Keoni led with confidence, stepping over roots and weaving through branches with practiced ease. I walked close behind, afraid of losing sight of him even for a second. The forest seemed different now. Less beautiful, more alive with things I could not see.
“You should not walk alone here,” he said gently. “Paths twist. It is easy to lose direction. Even locals get confused when distracted.”
“I thought it led to the beach,” I murmured.
“It can,” he said. “But not when you take the wrong turn.”
His voice was calm, steady. The opposite of my heartbeat. The closer we got to the wall of trees, the louder the ocean became again, guiding us back to safety.
When we stepped out of the forest and onto the sand, Keoni lifted a hand and pointed down the beach. My eyes followed.
Chase.
He stood near the staircase, phone in hand, but no longer speaking. The moment he saw me, his entire posture changed. His shoulders stiffened. His jaw clenched so tightly the muscle next to his ear twitched. His eyes locked onto me with an intensity that made me freeze.
Keoni lowered his gaze and stepped aside quietly, giving us space.
I swallowed, walking slowly across the sand toward Chase. Each step felt heavier, like wading through water.
He met me halfway.
“What were you thinking,” he asked, voice low, controlled.
Not loud.
Not wild.
But dangerous in the restraint.
“I was only walking,” I said softly.
His eyes flashed. “You disappeared.”
I flinched. “I did not mean to. I thought the path returned to the beach.”
“Meaning you went into the forest without telling me,” he said, breath sharp.
Heat bloomed in my chest, not from guilt this time, but a spark of anger ignited by fear. “You were on the phone. I did not want to interrupt you.”
“You should have interrupted me,” he replied.
The wind picked up, fluttering my dress around my legs. Chase took a slow breath, like he was trying to force control back into his voice.
“I thought you collapsed. I thought you were hurt. I thought someone found you.”
His voice deepened at the last word. Someone.
Not something.
Someone.
My heart skipped.
“Why would someone be here,” I asked slowly.
He closed his eyes for a moment. “Because paparazzi do not care about private signs or security lines. They climb walls. They swim around security. I would not put it past anyone to follow us, especially with the noise our wedding made.”
That truth hit me hard.
And fear turned into anger.
“You could have asked me what happened before yelling,” I said, trying not to let my voice break. “You did not even ask if I was scared or hurt.”
His eyes snapped open. He stepped closer, so close the heat of his chest brushed the space between us.
“You were not answering your phone,” he said. “Your signal was gone. I could not track you. You shouted my name and then nothing. Do you understand what that does to me.”
I stared at him.
“To you,” I echoed.
He looked away then, toward the forest, as if the trees still held the echo of my voice.
“I should not have yelled,” he said quietly. “But fear and anger feel the same when you care about the outcome.”
The words held more weight than I expected. More truth than I was ready for.
I tried to speak, but my voice tangled. “I was scared too.”
“I know,” he replied.
Silence fell again, this time thick with something new. Not hostility. Not coldness. Something softer and fragile, built from fear and relief.
Chase’s eyes softened just slightly. “Do not wander off alone again. Not until I know every path here.”
My hands curled into fists. “I am not a child.”
He exhaled, closing the distance by one more step. “I did not call you one. I am asking because something can happen to you. And if it does, I cannot fix it.”
I swallowed.
Keoni pretended to check his crate in the distance, giving us privacy.
Chase looked at me again. His voice dropped lower, almost a whisper.
“I thought you ran the way she did,” he said.
My heart stuttered.
I suddenly understood everything. The fear in his voice. The tightness in his jaw. The anger that came like a tide crashing against stone.
“Chase,” I said, voice breaking a little. “I am not her.”
He met my eyes.
“I know,” he replied. “That is what scares me.”
My breath caught.
Something shifted between us in that moment. A thin wall cracked. Not fully broken, but fractured enough to see through.
The ice between us did not melt.
It turned to something else entirely.
Emotional tension.
Confusion.
Two people thrown together by fate and deception, finally seeing each other not as stand-ins or symbols, but as strangers who suddenly mattered too much.
We stood there in the warm breeze, sand cool beneath our feet, the forest whispering behind us. Neither one of us moved. The ocean rose and fell endlessly, as if time had paused here, waiting for us to take the next step.
I did not know what we were now.
Not enemies.
Not lovers.
Not a couple.
Not strangers.
Something in between.
Something that scared us both.
Keoni lifted the crate and called from the path. “I will bring fresh mangoes later. You two be careful.”
Chase nodded without looking away from me.
When I finally stepped back, my heartbeat echoed in my ears like distant drums.
He let me go.
But the space between us stayed charged, stretching like a thread neither of us wanted to cut.
And for the first time, I realized the truth:
Anger and fear were not what created distance between us.
They were what pulled us closer.
- Writer
