Chapter 4

RHETT 

It’s been five minutes.

Five whole minutes.

And he hasn’t moved.

The man in the black mask just stands there - silent, unmoving, like he was carved out of the shadows themselves. The lanterns around him sway with the wind, their light catching on the silver edge of the mask and the faint glint of a tattoo that snakes from his collarbone up his arm.

He’s blocking the only path out.

I shift my weight, glancing toward the side hedge. Maybe there’s another way through. Maybe if I just-

He tilts his head.

Slow.

Precise.

Like he’s reading my thoughts.

A cold ripple crawls down my spine.

“It’s fine,” I mutter under my breath, adjusting the mask. “Just another spoiled freak show.”

I take a step forward. Then another. The crunch of gravel beneath my shoes sounds deafening in the still air.

Three steps away.

Two.

Then his hand shoots out.

A gloved palm hits my chest- firm, controlled, commanding.

The kind of touch that doesn’t ask, doesn’t warn - just acts.

“Hey-” I start, but he pushes me back, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make my pulse stutter.

“What’s your problem?” I snap, grabbing his wrist to shove him off.

Mistake.

In a blur, he twists my arm behind me, forcing me down. Pain lances through my shoulder as my knee hits the ground with a sharp thud. Instinct takes over- I pivot, elbow up, a clean counter I’ve practiced a hundred times in the training room.

He blocks it like he’s seen it before.

Like he’s done it before.

The movement isn’t brute force- it’s control. Precise, economical. He reads me, predicts me, dismantles every tactic before it lands.

I try again- low sweep, body weight shift, grab his centre of gravity-

He sidesteps, grip tightening around my wrist just enough to warn, not break.

He doesn’t grunt. Doesn’t curse. Doesn’t even breathe loud.

It’s like being handled by smoke- every time I think I’ve slipped free, he reforms around me.

My pulse spikes, adrenaline pounding in my ears. No civilian moves like this. No amateur fights with this kind of silence.

No. Not unless-

Is he an agent?

Is he Wolfe?

I knew he was strong enough to go head to head with Keith- who was undoubtedly the best fighter in the agency- but this is insane.

And the thought of him here, taking over his case is enough to make my blood boil all over again.

“Let go!” I snarl, trying to use his momentum against him, twisting my body to throw him off balance.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he shifts his weight slow, deliberate- pressing down on my shoulder until I’m forced lower. The gravel bites into my knee, the air burning in my lungs.

In one seamless move, he draws me down until I’m kneeling before him.

For a second, everything stills.

All I can hear is my own ragged breathing and the faint flicker of a nearby lamp that hasn’t yet gone out.

My head is tilted up when his hand grips my chin- firm, gloved, cold.

In a single, deliberate motion, my mask is gone.

The air hits my face, cool and damp, and I swear the whole forest stops breathing with me.

He just looks at me.

He studies me.

Doesn’t say a word - not that I expected him to anyway.

And for a second, a thought flashes through my head like a live wire.

What if this guy isn’t Wolfe?

He hasn’t shown a hint of recognition since he pulled off my mask.

And Wolfe? He would’ve talked by now. He would’ve cursed, lectured, or at the very least called the agency the second he saw me interfering.

Well, it was my brother’s case first. But that bastard wouldn’t have hesitated to drag me back in chains for stepping into it.

And this man… nothing. No flicker of emotion. No reaction. Just quiet calculation behind that mask.

So if he isn’t Wolfe-

Then who the hell is he?

My thought is cut off when I hear the sharp sound of a zipper opened in front of me.

Son of a bitch the bastard is getting his dick out.