The Billionaire Heir Called It a Romantic Mountain Trip Until My Psychic Grandmother Told Me to Ask Why His Cabin Was Booked for Three

“You stupid bitch,” Julian snarled, his mask of civilized corporate charm completely shredded, revealing the violent monster underneath.

He grabbed the front of my jacket, lifting me half an inch off the floor. His face was twisted in rage.

“Who did you call?” Julian demanded, shaking me. “Who could possibly hear you out here? We’re fifty miles from the nearest highway!”

Victoria rushed over, her face pale with panic. “Julian, stop shaking her! Check her pockets! Find the phone! If she contacted anyone—if she has a cloud backup—”

Before Julian could strip my coat away, a sudden, blinding flash of light lit up the panoramic windows of the cabin, followed instantly by a deafening crack of thunder that shook the very foundations of the log walls.

The cabin lights flickered violently once, twice, and then died completely.

Pitch blackness swallowed the room.

Julian cursed loudly, loosening his grip on my jacket as he stumbled backward in the dark.

“The generator must have tripped,” Victoria hissed, her voice trembling with rising panic from somewhere near the kitchen island. “Julian, find the flashlight! We need to get her phone!”

In the absolute darkness, my heart pounded a frantic rhythm. But my mind was hyper-focused. I didn't panic. I remembered the layout of the room. Two steps to my left was the heavy wooden dining table. Three steps behind that was the side exit door leading out to the wraparound porch.

I slipped silently to the left, my hand grazing the smooth wooden edge of the table.

Behind me, I heard the harsh click of a tactical flashlight beam cutting through the darkness. A bright white cylinder of light sliced across the living room, sweeping over the leather couches and the stone fireplace.

“She’s moving!” Victoria shrieked, pointing the beam directly at me.