Swapping a Broken Heart for a New Start novel Chapter 434

The thought that they might not be able to find her—and that she herself might not make it back—made Camila Davis freeze. She instinctively started retracing her steps.

But of course, the thing you fear most is exactly what happens.

She was rushing back down the trail when thunder crashed across the sky, tearing it open. In an instant, rain poured down in sheets, soaking Camila through before she had time to react.

The downpour only got heavier, turning the world into a blurry mess. Camila could barely see the path ahead. The wind howled, snapping branches like toothpicks.

She knew if she kept going, she might get blown right off the hillside. Even if she managed to keep her footing, the mud was so slick she could easily slip and tumble down.

No way was she risking it. In a panic, she tried to remember if there was any kind of shelter nearby. She recalled stumbling across an old, half-collapsed woodshed not far from here—probably built by some hunter ages ago and left to rot. Most of the wooden walls had fallen away, leaving just a couple of pillars, two crumbling clay walls, and a patched-together roof that looked like it might collapse at any second.

It was a wreck, but right now it would have to do.

No time to be picky. Camila sprinted toward where she thought the shack should be.

Thankfully, her memory was good. After a few more minutes of slipping and sliding through the mud, she spotted the battered shelter.

She shoved the door open, and a cloud of dust rained down. Camila sneezed a few times, and it finally hit her just how cold and wet she was.

She wrapped her arms around herself, found the cleanest corner she could, and huddled there. “It’s just a little rain,” she tried to tell herself. “I won’t catch a cold… right?”

Worry crept in again.

Sarah had gone to pick wild herbs—she probably took the other path. Camila was almost sure she was the one who’d strayed the farthest… What a mess.

She didn’t blame anyone else. If she’d known this would happen, she never would’ve gone looking for those stupid herbs. Then Sarah wouldn’t be missing, and she wouldn’t be stuck here, either.

Camila grabbed her phone, hoping to call Sarah Brown.

No luck. There was barely any signal up on the mountain even on a good day, and now with the storm raging, there was nothing—no bars, not even a flicker.

She groaned in frustration.

If the others realized she was missing, they’d be worried sick.

Lillian probably had no idea what was going on. Would she be scared? Maybe not—she had Mr. Williams with her, after all…

Camila’s mind spiraled with worries, before finally settling on a single, desperate hope.

Please let this storm end soon. If it does, maybe she could find her way back before dark.

***

Meanwhile, Camila had been right about Sarah Brown.

Sarah hadn’t taken the same trail. Instead, she’d gone down the one Larry Adams had found.

Larry caught up to her not long after they set out. They hurried back together, only to get caught in the same relentless rain—both of them soaked to the bone.

Still, they were luckier than Camila. After a short walk, they ran into one of the bodyguards and Dennis Williams, who’d come looking for them.

The storm was brutal, and Camila’s fears weren’t unfounded.

Any trail markers had long since washed away. Even the branches she’d used as signs were gone, scattered by wind and water.

Dennis and his team had no choice but to split up at each fork in the trail, searching for any sign of her.

Back in the shack, Camila was shivering so hard her teeth chattered.

After half an hour, the rain finally started to let up—a little. The wind died down, but rain still pelted the roof.

Camila peered outside, nerves jangling. What if the rain didn’t stop before dark?

She was already considering making a run for it, storm or no storm. If she waited any longer, things could get even worse. And she really didn’t want to cause more trouble for Mr. Williams and the others.

Just as she was steeling herself to go, she heard rustling outside—not the wind, but footsteps.

She crept to the battered window and peered out. Through the sheets of rain, a man with a clear umbrella was striding purposefully toward the shack.

He looked like someone who belonged on a mountaintop—strong, determined, almost mythic. Rain poured off his jacket, soaking him through.

His pace was urgent, his normally calm face clouded with worry.

Dennis Williams—he was worried. He was scared. And he was here.