Chapter 2 The Day a Stranger Hit Me and Ruined My Peace

The Day a Stranger Hit Me and Ruined My Peace

(Benjamin POV)

I had not gone to the hiking trail to die.

That felt important to clarify-especially in light of what happened next.

I went there because silence is expensive, and it is the one thing money cannot buy. Not when you own an empire, not when your name is printed in financial journals, not when every room you walk into expects something from you.

The trail was the only place that didn't.

No assistants.

No board members.

No questions.

Just trees, wind, and the quiet memory of a woman who used to walk beside me and laugh at nothing.

Chloe loved this place.

She used to say it reminded her that life didn't care how rich you were-it would still go on without you. I never liked that sentiment. Now, years later, I understood it far too well.

I stood near the edge of the cliff, hands in my coat pockets, staring down at the endless stretch below. Not because I wanted to jump.

Because sometimes you need to stand close to something vast to remember how small your problems are supposed to be.

Apparently, this made me look suicidal.

I learned that when someone slammed into me from behind.

Hard.

"What the-"

My balance shifted violently as hands grabbed my coat and yanked with surprising strength. For half a second, I genuinely wondered if this was how I was going to die-not from despair, but from being tackled off a cliff by a stranger with poor timing.

Instinct kicked in.

I turned sharply, reaching out to steady whoever had just decided my personal space no longer mattered.

And that was when I found myself gripping the wrists of a woman who looked at me like I had personally crawled out of her nightmares.

She screamed.

Not a polite scream. Not a startled sound.

A full, soul-deep, you are about to be featured on a crime documentary scream.

"Let go of me!" she yelled, thrashing like a cornered animal.

"I'm not-" I started.

She did not wait for clarification.

She tore herself free, stumbled backward, and grabbed a plank of wood off the ground.

A plank.

At this point, I had several thoughts in rapid succession:

1. This is escalating.

2. I should leave.

3. Why does this keep happening to me?

"Don't come closer!" she warned, eyes wild, tears streaking down her face.

I raised my hands slowly. "You grabbed me first."

This did not help.

"I was trying to stop you!" she cried.

"From what?"

"You were going to jump!"

I blinked. "I was standing."

She swung.

The impact was immediate and deeply unpleasant.

Pain exploded at the side of my head, bright and sharp, and then the world tilted sideways. I remember thinking, This woman is surprisingly strong, and then I was on the ground.

Darkness followed.

---

I woke up to voices.

Police voices.

Which is never ideal.

"What happened, sir?" someone asked.

I opened my eyes slowly, immediately regretting it. The sky fractured above me, blue lights flashing between the trees like I'd wandered into the world's most inconvenient music video.

My head throbbed.

"I was assaulted," I said truthfully.

Across the trail, wrapped in a borrowed jacket and vibrating with panic, stood the woman who had done it.

She was speaking rapidly to another officer, gesturing wildly in my direction.

"He chased me! He tried to-he was going to-"

I stared at her.

She stared back.

And I watched the exact moment realization punched her in the chest.

Her shoulders sagged. Her mouth fell open slightly. Whatever story she'd built in her head collapsed under the weight of facts.

Ah.

She thought I was the threat.

This explained everything.

At the station, the truth came out in pieces-alcohol, heartbreak, fear, poor judgment. She sat across from me, hands shaking, eyes red, shrinking into herself as the weight of what she'd done settled in.

She looked young.

Too young to carry that much guilt.

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly, not meeting my eyes. "I really thought... I wasn't thinking."

No, she hadn't been.

But neither had I, standing at a cliff in a tailored suit like a tragic metaphor.

My lawyer arrived. My assistant, Joe, looked ready to combust. Pressing charges would have been effortless. The system loves efficiency.

I looked at her again.

At the way she was folded inward, remorse written into every line of her body.

"No," I said finally. "I won't press charges."

Her head snapped up. "You won't?"

"It was a misunderstanding," I replied. "A dramatic one. But still."

Relief flooded her face so fast it nearly knocked her over.

She whispered thank you about three times.

I left with a bandage on my head and a story I would absolutely not be telling at board meetings.

I assumed that would be the end of it.

I was wrong.

---

A week later, I reviewed a file Joe placed on my desk between meetings.

"In-house tutor," he said. "Excellent academic record. Strong recommendation."

I skimmed it without much interest.

Then I saw the name.

Hannah Milton.

I froze.

"That's not funny," I said flatly.

Joe frowned. "What isn't?"

"The universe," I replied.

He leaned over my shoulder. "Do you know her?"

"Yes," I said. "She hit me."

Joe paused. "I'm sorry?"

"She thought I was suicidal and/or a criminal," I clarified. "Used a plank."

Joe stared at me for a long moment. Then-unhelpfully-he smiled.

"That's one way to meet," he said.

I closed the file.

"I'm not hiring her."

Joe lifted an eyebrow. "Because she assaulted you?"

"Because she drinks, panics, and solves problems with wood."

"Sir," he said carefully, "the interview is tomorrow."

I sighed.

"Fine," I muttered. "I'll meet her. And then I won't hire her."

It was a solid plan.

It failed spectacularly.

---

Because the woman who walked into my garden the next morning-limping, pale, and painfully determined-was not the reckless menace I had imagined.

She was human.

And, as I would soon learn, very inconvenient.