“You’re a stubborn one, huh?” I whisper. “Guess we’ve got something in common.”
John leans on the doorframe, arms folded. “He doesn’t take to many people. Surprised he’s lettin’ you near.”
I shrug, not looking up. “Maybe he can tell I’m not in the mood to fight him for it.”
The corner of John’s mouth quirks, but he doesn’t push. It is one of the things I appreciate about my biological father. He doesn’t push.
The hours pass in pieces, brushing, leading horses out to the training ring, swapping brushes for tack, hauling saddles which weigh nearly as much as I do. Sweat beads at my temples, myhoodie long since abandoned, arms dusted with hay. My muscles ache, but it’s the good kind of ache. An ache which means I did something useful.
By the time the sun tips past noon, the air hums with a tired, satisfied energy. Horses gleam, stalls are cleaned, and the smell of oiled leather clings to everything. The men stretch and trade banter, a couple heading toward the mess hall for food. John gives me a curt nod.
“You did good today.”
The words land heavier than they should. It’s been a long time since anyone told me about anything.
“Thanks,” I murmur, dragging a hand through my sweaty hair.
He doesn’t linger, but tips his hat and heads off, leaving me with Justify still nosing at my sleeve like he isn’t ready for me to leave.
I press my forehead to his neck, closing my eyes, breathing in the warm, earthy scent of him. Out here, with the horses and the dirt and the work, I can almost believe I belong. Almost forget the image of Colter’s head tipped back, his face lost in pleasure which wasn’t for me.
Almost.
21
The bathroom mirrorfeels like an interrogation lamp. Every time I look up, I see a version of myself I don’t quite recognize. Eyes smoky from liner, lips a shade too bold, hair pinned up like I’m playing at being someone older, calmer, untouchable.
The dress clings to my body like it has a mind of its own. Deep burgundy silk slips over my skin, pooling at my feet. I chose it because it made me feel strong when I tried it on in the shop, but under this light, it’s daring, almost obscene. It bares my back in a sharp V, nothing but my spine and goosebumps on display.
Perfect. Let them look.
I smooth my hands down my hips, pressing my palms to the fabric until my fingers stop trembling.You’re not that girl anymore.The one who hid in the corners, who waited for the next blow, the next bad decision from someone else’s hands.
Tonight isn’t about Colter. It’s about me being seen without flinching. Without apologizing. Being seen as if I belong in this prestigious world.
I lean closer to the mirror, meeting my own eyes. “He doesn’t get to see you break,” I whisper, voice low, steady. “He doesn’t get to touch you first.”
The house downstairs hums like a hive—music, laughter, crystal clinking against crystal. Through the window I can see headlights pulling up the long drive, black SUVs and sports cars dropping off men in suits, women in gowns. Everyone will be looking. Waiting. Judging.
My stomach twists.
I unclip the last tendril of hair from my face, letting it curl against the nape of my neck. A small rebellion. A hint of softness they can’t control.
He’ll be down there. Colter. He’ll see me. And he’ll remember what he did. What I walked in on. It’s been days since the night in the pool house and there has been nothing from him. No showing up at the ranch. No reaching out to Pace.
His bold silence tells me everything I need to know.
I suck in a slow breath, rolling my shoulders back until the tension clicks free. I’m not going to give him the power of seeing me hesitate at the top of those stairs. He wants me to retreat. Wants me to be small.
Not tonight.
I slip on my heels, straighten, and pick up the matching clutch. The hallway outside is lined with photographs of a family that isn’t mine, walls dripping with a kind of wealth that always smells faintly of decay.
One last look in the mirror. Burgundy silk. Bare back. Eyes that saytry me.
I whisper it again, this time like a promise: “Not tonight.”
Then I turn, open the door, and step into the hall toward the staircase, toward the noise, toward the moment where every eye will be on me.
