Through her eyes

{Sae’s Pov}

Rain dripped from the tip of my nose, slid down my neck, and soaked into my once-immaculate blouse. The forest had no patience for silk. It chewed at my heels, tangled my hair in low-hanging branches, and mocked me with the whisper of every leaf. The wind howled like a pack of wolves laughing at the city-bred fool who thought she could outwalk the wild.

I had fired my driver. I had screamed into my phone like a madwoman before the signal died. The car had died hours earlier, smoke curling from the hood like a cursed thing. My perfectly manicured hands were now caked in mud, one ankle throbbed from a bad step, and I was beginning to understand the appeal of setting something on fire.

I didn’t know how far I was from the city. My watch had stopped working. My phone was dead. I was Sae Williams—CEO of the most powerful logistics company in the country—and I was lost in the damn woods like a fairy tale gone wrong.

That’s when I heard them.

Laughter.

It was light, unfiltered, as if the rain didn’t touch them. Two girls walked through the woods with woven baskets in their arms, talking about mushrooms and soup and whether Rebecca’s mom would scold them for bringing home the wrong kind again.

And then—I saw her.

She wasn’t particularly tall or dressed to impress. In fact, she looked like every other teenage girl I had seen in passing. Jeans, a jacket two sizes too big, brown boots caked with dirt. But there was something else—something in the softness of her smile, the curiosity in her eyes as she stopped mid-sentence and looked at me.

And in that moment, the noise in my head—board meetings, quarterly reports, angry shareholders, every expectation that had ever been chained to my throat—fell silent.

“Hey!” she called out. “Rebecca, look! Someone’s there!”

They ran toward me without hesitation. Brave little fools.

“Are you okay?” she asked, kneeling beside me. Her eyes were warm honey. Her fingers hovered near my scraped hand like a butterfly unsure of where to land.

“I twisted my ankle,” I said. My voice was raw, shaky. The cold had sunk into my bones.

Rebecca frowned. “You’re soaked. Come on, our house isn’t far. We’ll help you.”

I could’ve said no. Should’ve said no.

But the forest didn’t lie.

I let them help me up, let that girl—Jane, I’d learn later—wrap my arm around her small shoulders, let her warmth seep through my skin and into something deeper. Rebecca carried the baskets and guided the way. Jane talked softly, asking if I was okay, if I wanted to lean on her more, if I needed water.

She smelled like pine and sugar.

They lived in a small, old cottage at the edge of the forest, filled with books, potted plants, and the smell of freshly baked bread. Rebecca’s parents weren’t home. That was convenient. Jane led me to the bathroom and turned on the shower.

“Do you want me to help you undress?” she asked, all innocence.

I shook my head. “I’ll manage.”

But my ankle buckled the moment she stepped away. I hissed through my teeth.

She turned quickly. “Wait—let me help. I’ve seen my mom help injured people before.”

And just like that, she was beside me again. Peeling away my blouse with careful fingers, unzipping the side of my skirt, her eyes never lingering too long, never touching what she shouldn’t. She helped me step into the shower, adjusted the water, and left with a whispered, “Take your time.”

Rebecca had left her clothes outside the door. They were too big but clean and soft. I stepped out, dried off, and Jane was waiting. She took my hand and led me to the couch, where she bandaged my ankle like a gentle little nurse.

“My name’s Jane,” she said with a shy smile. “What’s yours?”

“Sae.”

She repeated it softly. “Sae... That’s pretty.”

And that’s when it happened.

Something shifted. Broke. Clicked.

I didn’t want to leave.

I didn’t want her to leave.

My guards arrived twenty minutes later, breathless and soaked. They bowed, flustered, apologetic.

“You didn’t tell us you were taking a walk, Miss Williams.”

“I wasn’t,” I said, eyes still locked on Jane, who now sat on the floor sketching mushrooms in a little notebook.

“We’ll take you home.”

“Wait outside,” I ordered.

Once alone, I asked Jane, “Do your parents know you’re here?”

She shrugged. “They work late.”

Of course they do.

I reached out and tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear.

“Thank you, Jane.”

She smiled again.

It was over for me.

That night, in the backseat of my armored car, I gave my orders. “Place cameras in that house. Inside her room. Discreetly. I want eyes on her 24/7.”

My security team hesitated. “Miss Williams, she’s just a—”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion. Do it.”

I watched her on my screen later that week. She danced in her room in pajamas, sang into a hairbrush, and painted little stars on her walls. She cried once, over a math grade, and then called her friend Rebecca to laugh about something stupid.

She didn’t know I was watching.

But I watched everything.

And I would never stop.