The plane touched down smoothly, wheels kissing the wet runway before the engines reversed and the aircraft began to decelerate. Through the window, I watched the grey Washington sky blur past, streaked with thin rain.
When the jet finally rolled to a complete stop, I unfastened my seatbelt and stood. There was no crowd, no shuffle of passengers impatient to disembark. The plane belonged to Ark, and today I was its only cargo.
The flight attendant, a young blonde woman who couldn't have been more than twenty-two, was already at the door. She finished the procedures with professional precision before turning to me with a polished smile.
"Welcome to Port Angeles, Mr Ashborn. I hope the flight was comfortable."
"It was perfect," I replied, stepping closer as the door opened and cool air slipped inside the cabin.
Her smile remained steady, but the faint colour in her cheeks betrayed her composure. "We look forward to having you on board again."
"I'm sure you will," I said lightly.
As I descended the steps onto the rain-slick runway, I could feel her gaze linger on my back. I pretended not to notice.
The air smelled of rain and pine.
Several dozen meters away, a sleek grey silhouette waited under the cloudy sky. A few crew members were finishing placing my luggage into its trunk.
A 2004 Aston Martin Vanquish.
Yeah… that was my baby.
I had it shipped ahead of me. If I were going to live in a small rainy town, I would at least do it with style.
I walked toward it at an unhurried pace, coat shifting slightly with each step. Near the car stood a middle-aged man of average height, dressed in a jacket with the logo of the shipping company stitched onto the chest.
"Good afternoon, Mr Ashborn," he said, extending his hand. "Paul Henderson, nice to meet you. Your vehicle was delivered without any complications. Here are the keys."
He handed them over carefully, as if it were the queen's crown.
"Thank you, Paul," I said, shaking his hand firmly. "I appreciate the professionalism."
"We aim to please, sir."
I slipped a folded hundred-dollar bill into his palm along with the handshake. "For the smooth delivery."
His eyebrows lifted slightly. "That's very generous, sir."
"Consider it appreciation for good service."
After a few more polite exchanges, he excused himself and walked back toward his transport vehicle, leaving me alone with the car.
For a moment, I simply stood there.
Even in the muted light, the Vanquish looked magnificent, long hood, sculpted lines, quiet aggression beneath refined elegance. The kind of car that didn't scream for attention but received it anyway.
In my previous life, something like this would have existed only as a desktop wallpaper or a passing dream. Now it stood in front of me, registered under my name, waiting for me to drive it home.
I had bought multiple properties across the US, invested in companies, and moved capital in amounts that once would have seemed absurd. And yet… the excitement hadn't faded. Not completely.
It was still there, subtle but warm.
I just didn't show it.
Outwardly, I remained composed, studying the car with the calm expression of a man evaluating an asset.
Inwardly?
The former version of me was grinning like an idiot.
I opened the driver's door and slid into the seat, the leather cool and firm beneath me. For a moment, I simply sat there, hands resting on the steering wheel, taking in the interior. Dark stitched leather, clean dashboard, subtle metallic details.
"Alright," I murmured to myself, adjusting the mirrors. "Let's see what you can do."
I pressed the ignition.
The engine came alive with a deep, powerful growl that rolled through the chassis like restrained thunder. A rich mechanical melody that vibrated faintly through the steering wheel and into my palms.
A slow smile tugged at my lips.
"Beautiful."
I eased the car forward, guiding it toward the airport exit, the engine humming confidently as if pleased to finally stretch its legs. Once I reached the open road heading toward Forks, the scenery began to shift into something painfully familiar.
Lush forests lined both sides of the highway, thick and ancient, their deep green canopies blending into the overcast sky. Mist clung to the treetops like a permanent guest. It was cinematic in the most literal sense.
"So this is it," I muttered, glancing at the endless wall of trees. "The famous moody aesthetic."
It was around 4 pm, yet the sky already looked like it was debating whether to call it a day. Grey clouds hovered low, dimming the world into soft twilight tones. Standard Forks weather. I had to get used to that.
"I suppose vitamin D is optional here," I sighed lightly.
The drive to Forks took a few hours, long enough for the world to grow quieter and the roads emptier. By the time I turned toward my grandmother's house, now technically my new residence, the town had fully embraced its sleepy, isolated charm.
As I pulled into the driveway, the first thing I noticed was that the house no longer looked like the stereotypical "storybook grandmother house" people would imagine.
It had been that way once.
I had ordered a full renovation months ago. The old furniture had been carefully packed and placed into a rented storage unit. In its place now was a renovated interior in a modern style, new furniture, warmer lighting, and a balanced design that felt comfortable without being excessive.
I stopped the car in front of the garage and pressed the remote. The door slid open with a low mechanical hum, revealing a second vehicle already parked inside, a Range Rover L322 occupying one of the two spots.
The Aston Martin Vanquish was perfect, but let's be honest, it was made for two people. The front seats were pure comfort. The back seats? Technically, they are considered as such. But if someone ever sat there, it would either mean an emergency… or punishment.
So, I bought the Range Rover in the exact same shade of grey. It has much more space.
If I ever needed to drive more than one person without folding them like luggage, the SUV would do the job.
The Aston was for style.
The Range Rover was for when I had to pretend to be practical.
The garage wasn't massive, I hadn't demolished and rebuilt the house from scratch, only renovated it. Still, it had enough space for two cars comfortably.
I drove the Aston Martin inside and shut off the engine.
Stepping out, I closed the garage door behind me and turned to look at the house properly.
I had seen photos, of course. Approved designs and signed off on material samples. But reality was different.
With my enhanced vision, I immediately noticed minor exterior imperfections, slight misalignment in one panel, and a barely uneven paint finish near the gutter. Details no normal human would ever detect.
"Fuckers… I paid you so much, and this is what I get?" I growled, letting the thought slide.
If I started chasing perfection, I'd never stop.
Inside, the front door opened into a spacious, thoughtfully arranged interior that immediately felt open and welcoming. The first floor flowed naturally from a modern kitchen, bright, well-equipped, and neatly organised, into a large living room centred around a new television. The layout felt balanced and intentional, with a small storage room tucked discreetly to the side for practicality.
Upstairs, there was a comfortable guest bedroom and a large shared bathroom, both finished in the same modern style. At the end of the hallway was my bedroom, noticeably more spacious than the rest, complete with a walk-in wardrobe and a private attached bathroom.
After a brief inspection, I returned to the garage, retrieved my luggage, and carried it upstairs. I hung my clothes neatly in the wardrobe. Once everything was in place, I took a quick shower.
By the time I came downstairs in casual clothes, towelling my hair dry, the digital clock on the kitchen wall read 21:27.
I froze mid-step.
There was an empty refrigerator humming softly in front of me.
I stared at it.
Then at the clock.
Then back at the fridge.
Slowly and deliberately, I raised my hand and slapped my forehead.
"You absolute genius."
I had renovated a house, shipped two cars across states…
…and forgotten to buy food.
The fridge contained nothing but bottled water and what might generously be described as optimistic air.
"Brilliant," I muttered. "You can't remember to buy groceries, especially considering how large my appetite is."
I leaned back against the counter, mentally running through my options. It was nearly 21:30.
Small town with a population under four thousand. Which meant that if you forgot something essential, like food, you weren't making a quick late-night run to fix it. No twenty-four-hour supermarkets. Just dark windows and "closed" signs.
"Well," I sighed, pushing myself upright, "either I go hunting tonight… or I stay starving until morning."
Somehow, the second option felt more dangerous to my pride.