As Peony took her first bite of the steak—which melted in her mouth like butter—her eyes drifted to the man sitting across from her.
He was focused entirely on his food, slicing his meat with surgical precision. He didn't stare. He didn't check her out. He didn't try to make charming conversation.
It was... refreshing. And strangely confusing.
Peony's romantic history had been a minefield of obsession.
At twenty, she had her first boyfriend. It wasn't real love; it was a "Love Team"—a PR stunt arranged by the studio to promote a drama series. It was only meant for the fans' eyes, a contract bound by ratings. Yet, even in a fake relationship, the control was real. That on-cam romance lasted nearly two years, ending only when his possessiveness began to bleed into her real life, suffocating her behind the scenes.
At twenty-five, she tried again. This time, it was a "real" relationship.
He was the son of a tycoon—a perfect match approved by both their parents. It was a courtship built on the promise of marriage and business mergers. But the ring came with chains.
He was insecure. He was jealous. If a fan kissed her hand, he would start a fight. If a male co-star smiled at her, he would accuse her of cheating. The cycle was exhausting: a screaming argument, followed by expensive apologies—truckloads of flowers, luxury bags, diamond jewelry.
"I only do this because I love you," he would say. "What if that guy takes you from me? What if that bodyguard is just pretending?"
She grew sick of the "What Ifs."
When she finally broke up with him, her parents supported her. But the silence from his family was deafening. It was a heavy, ominous silence.
He didn't take the rejection well. He issued warnings—threats veiled as concern—which she ignored.
Then came the rust.
Like mushrooms sprouting in the dark, scandals began to pop up around her name. Fake news, out-of-context photos, the incident with the Senator... it was a systematic destruction. It was like rust on metal, slowly but surely eating away the career she had built with her own hands.
And the root cause of it all? Her beauty. Her talent. The things that made men want to own her.
Peony looked at Tobey again.
The giant took a sip of his wine, gazing into the fire, completely ignoring the fact that a famous beauty was sitting three feet away.
To him, she realized, I'm just a rock.
He knew she was there—he wouldn't trip over her—but he didn't care about the shape of the stone or the moss growing on it. He didn't want to put the rock in his pocket, and he didn't want to crush it.
For the first time in years, Peony felt something she had almost forgotten: Safety.
She watched him closely, searching for a sign.
She looked for a spark in his electric blue eyes, a secret curve of his lips, a hidden smirk—anything that betrayed he was affected by her presence.
There was nothing.
His gaze was focused entirely on his steak. He cut into the meat with a look of genuine appreciation that he hadn't directed at her once. To this giant, the medium-rare Ribeye was infinitely more attractive than the award-winning actress sitting across from him.
Peony wasn't used to this treatment.
It was disorienting. For years, she had been the sun in every room she entered—people orbited around her, stared at her, wanted something from her. But here, she was just... a dinner guest.
A voice in her head nudged her. Tell him. Maybe he just doesn't recognize you in the dark.
She set down her wine glass and straightened her posture, summoning the poise she used for red carpet interviews.
"Hi," she said, her voice clear and practiced. "I'm Peony Haven."
She extended her left hand across the small camping table for a handshake, waiting for the inevitable moment of recognition.
Her wide sweet smile and confidence is written in her face. But her heart beating fast as the stared back at her with his blue eyes.
A gentle smile formed on his reddish lips that highlighted by his newly trimmed beard and mustache. Shit! When did I become observer?
Tobey quicly dropped the knife and took one paper towel to wipe his right hand. Then extended his hand.
"To-Timothy." He almost forgot his new identity of his soul vessel. "Timothy Gray."
They shake hands. Tobey can feel the softness of her hand. And Peony can also feel the softness of his hands. Does he don't have a work? Well, maybe his family are too rich so he didn't need to raise his hands in order to live.
"It's nice to meet you in unexpected way. You seems relax now. The scaredy cat is already gone."
"Scaredy-cat?"
Peony bristled at the nickname, though she kept her expression polite.
Internally, she scoffed. I am not a scaredy-cat.
She had a brave heart. Hell, she had a heart of steel. Who else in their right mind would travel halfway across the country, all alone, dragging a suitcase through foreign terrain? If she were weak, she would have stayed locked in her mansion, crying over the tabloids.
Her bravery wasn't new; it was forged in fire.
She remembered being sixteen. She had dreamed of being an actress, but her parents—strict, traditional, controlling—had forbidden it. Most girls would have folded. Peony packed a bag. She left home, cut off her allowance, and attended auditions all by herself, surviving on instant noodles and determination.
She had to prove to them, and to the world, that she was willing to do anything to stand in that spotlight.
And she had won.
She wasn't known for weeping in rom-coms. She was Peony Haven, the Queen of Action Dramas. She had learned wire-fu, kickboxing, and tactical shooting for her roles. She had jumped off buildings (with a harness) and fought armies (of stuntmen).
But movies were different from reality.
In the movies, the villain waits for the director to yell "Action." In the forest, the boar just charges.
It wasn't fear of the dark, she justified to herself, taking a sip of wine. It was the claws of death aimed at my neck. That would terrify anyone.
Besides, she had always feared the living more than the dead. Monsters and ghosts were fiction; stalkers, obsessive ex-boyfriends, and ruthless paparazzi were real. They were the true predators.
She set her glass down, meeting "Timothy's" gaze with a renewed sense of dignity.
"I'm not usually a scaredy-cat," she corrected him, her voice firm. "I actually do most of my own stunts. But... I admit, wild boars are not in my usual contract."
"Stunts?" Tobey paused, his fork hovering halfway to his mouth. "You work in film?"
"Yes," Peony replied, watching him like a hawk. "Mostly action movies."
Tobey frowned, his eyebrows knitting together in genuine confusion. He looked her up and down—not in a creepy way, but in an assessing, tactical way.
"You have a very small frame for an action star," he noted bluntly, turning back to his mashed potatoes. "You look more like a magazine model than a fighter."
Confirmed.
Peony felt a weight lift off her shoulders, leaving her jaw hanging slightly slack.
He truly didn't know her.
It was almost impressive. Her name and face were plastered across billboards in the Northern, Southern, and Eastern territories. You couldn't walk into a convenience store without seeing her face on a soda can.
"You really don't know who I am, do you?" she asked, her voice a mix of disbelief and relief.
Tobey stopped chewing. He felt a sudden spike of embarrassment.
He quickly scanned the memories of "Timothy Gray"—the body he was inhabiting. He searched for her face, her name, anything.
Nothing.
Timothy, it seemed, had been just as disconnected from pop culture as Tobey was.
He abruptly shook his head.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled, unable to meet her gaze. He focused intently on the grill, feeling like he had failed a basic social test. "I... I don't really have hobbies. Or spare time to watch films. I've been... busy."
The silence stretched, thick and awkward.
Tobey felt the need to fix it. His solution, as usual, was food.
"H-here."
He grabbed the tongs and plunked a second, massive slab of Ribeye onto her plate, right on top of the half-eaten one she already had.
"Compensation," he grunted. "For being ignorant."
Peony caught the faint flush on his cheeks before he looked away. A soft chuckle escaped her lips.
Cute, she thought. For a giant who could fend off a boar, he was surprisingly shy.
She looked down at the mountain of meat on her plate. "This is too much food. I really can't finish it all."
"Just leave what you can't eat," Tobey said pragmatically, eyeing the steak. "I'll finish it later. Waste not, want not."
Peony nodded, slicing another small piece. The atmosphere was light, almost domestic.
Ping.
The screen of her phone lit up on the table. A notification banner flashed across the lock screen. Peony's smile vanished instantly. The light in her eyes died, replaced by a cold, weary exhaustion. She didn't check the message. She simply reached out, held down the power button, and turned the device completely off.
Tobey noticed the shift immediately. The air around her had grown heavy.
"So," he started, his tone shifting from awkward host to serious interrogator. "Why are you here? You're clearly from a bustling city, not the type to hike into a secluded province like Motahowk."
He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he calculated the risks.
"Do you have companions coming? Does your manager know where you are? Or your family?"
Peony let out a dry, humorless laugh. She leaned back in her chair, looking up at the canopy of stars above them.
"If you were shorter, or uglier, I might suspect you were a paparazzi asking all these questions," she joked weakly.
She swirled the red wine in her glass, watching the crimson liquid coat the crystal.
"I currently have an... issue. An issue that's destroying my life, my family, and my career." She took a long sip of wine, needing the liquid courage. "It feels like it's me versus the world. Like I committed some capital crime. People are judging me, calling me names... sending me death threats."
Tobey stopped chewing. He slowly lowered his fork and knife, the metal clinking softly against the plate. He looked at her—really looked at her. He saw the gloss of unshed tears clouding her eyes, the trembling of her lower lip.
"I want to defend myself," she whispered. "But I know that in this crisis, no one will believe me. The mob is too loud."
She looked back at him, her expression fragile.
"So, I decided to travel alone. I found the Motahowk forest on an online map and just... went. I came here to relax. To think. To clear my head before I go crazy."
"I just didn't expect to run into a horde of wild boars," Peony admitted, shivering slightly at the memory. "I'm lucky you were there. Thank you. Truly."
"You're welcome," Tobey replied, his voice gruff but kind. "Just don't travel alone next time. There won't always be someone around to save you. Stick to safe beaches or designated campsites, not wolf-infested forests."
"Yes, sir," Peony saluted playfully, a mischievous glint in her eye.
Tobey shook his head, hiding a smirk, and turned his attention back to his meal.
He scooped another massive portion of mashed potatoes onto his plate. It was strange—having this new, titanic body felt like possessing a bottomless pit. His stomach seemed to stretch infinitely to accommodate the mountain of food.
I hope I don't get fat, he thought with a frown, looking at his third steak. Though with this 'Vitality' thing, I probably burn ten thousand calories just blinking.
"Anyways," he asked, glancing at her. "How long do you plan to stay out here?"
Peony sighed, the playfulness fading. She looked into the darkness of the woods, imagining the chaos waiting for her back in the city.
"Maybe one week? Maybe more," she murmured, shrugging her shoulder. "I planned to stay until I finished my packed food supply. But since I just got a free meal out of you, I guess my vacation just got extended by another day."
She flashed him a small, grateful smile.
"I have plenty of food supplies," Tobey said, gesturing to the cooler. "Feel free to freeload as long as you want."
"With this amount of food every day?" Peony groaned, eyeing the empty plates. "I'll be rolling back to the city, not walking."
"Just imagine your fans' reaction," Tobey deadpanned. "'Action Star Defeats Villains by Sitting on Them.'"
Peony froze for a second, then burst into laughter. Tobey joined her, his deep chuckle rumbling in the quiet night.
They shared a few more stories as they finished the meal. When Peony finally tapped out, unable to take another bite, Tobey wordlessly pulled her plate over and finished the leftovers in seconds.
"I'll wash the dishes," Peony insisted, standing up. "You cooked; I clean. It's the rule."
Tobey didn't argue, but he didn't let her go alone. The river was pitch black, and the lantern light couldn't reach that far.
"I'll come with you," he said, grabbing a portable work light. "There might be snakes or nocturnal animals down there."
They walked to the riverbank. The water was cold, reflecting the artificial light of the lamp Tobey set on a flat rock.
They crouched side-by-side on the rocky bank, scrubbing the plates with river water and biodegradable soap.
"By the way," Tobey said, scrubbing a fork. "If you want, you don't need to set up your tent tonight. You can stay in mine. It's... huge. Big enough for two. And don't worry," he added calmly, "I won't touch you."
Peony scrubbed a plate slower than usual. They were squatting so close that their arms brushed with every movement.
In the cool night air, she could smell him.
It wasn't the smell of sweat or grime. It was a natural, masculine scent—clean skin, faint woodsmoke from the fire, and something else... something deep and earthy.
It was addicting.
She found her focus slipping. Her mind began to cloud, an unbidden urge rising in her chest to lean closer, to bury her face in his shoulder and fill her lungs with that scent.
"Hey, are you okay?"
"Huh?" Peony snapped her head up, blinking rapidly.
Tobey was looking at her with concern. "You weren't responding. You spaced out."
He frowned slightly. Her problem must be weighing heavily on her mind, he thought. She looks completely absent-minded.
"I... I'm okay," Peony stammered, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. Shit! What is happening to me? "I just... remembered something. What did you say?"
Tobey studied her face for a moment longer before nodding.
"I said, if you want to take a bath before you sleep, this part of the river is safe. It's shallow—maybe belly-deep for you—and the current is weak. So, do you want to wash up first, or should I?"
Peony swallowed hard, her heart doing a traitorous flip.
"Y-you first," she said quickly, turning back to the dishes to hide her face. "I'll finish cleaning up the mess and... find a spot to stack these."
"Okay."
Tobey stood up, his knees cracking slightly. "I'll leave the light here for you. I need to grab a change of clothes."
He turned and walked back up the slope toward the tent, disappearing into the shadows.
Peony remained crouched by the water, the dirty plate forgotten in her hand. She watched his broad back retreat into the darkness, biting her lip, a spark of undeniable attraction lingering in her eyes.