The one child she photographed relentlessly anddidn'tuse to make money.
Him.
Not me.
Him.
To the world, she was the mother who made me a brand.
In private, she was the woman who collected a boy like butterfly wings pinned to velvet.
I have questions I will never get answered.
Because only two people know what this book truly is and one of them is dead. I will never ask Legion about this book. Ever. Some secrets should stay buried, even as they haunt us.
I get up, slip the Book of Legion back into the safe, and lock away the secrets that feel too heavy to carry upstairs.
My fingers linger on the dial before I turn away and then the elevator hums as it returns me to my closet, to my life, to the performance.
By afternoon, I'm in the outdoor arena, my heels and lower legs pressing the hidden buttons on Cassia's warm body that will tell her to yield, or shoulder in, or half-pass as we practice the only thing I got out of college—dressage skills.
Meaningless in the grand scheme of things, but very impressive when dropped into an Instagram reel with trending music.
That’s not why I do it, though I do share videos like that on occasion.
I do it because dressage is a partnership between horse and rider at the highest level of trust. No words are spoken. You’re not allowed to speak during a dressage test. No clicking, no whoas, no words of encouragement when your equine partner does it just right. The dressage horse is the only animal in the world that has learned to be fluent in a language where hands are syllables, and legs are words, and heels are sentences.
My mare's hooves stir dust that floats golden in the sunlight. My instructor, Madeline, nods approvingly from the center of the ring. "Beautiful extension, Savannah. Now collect her and prepare for the flying change."
I gather the reins, feeling Cassia's powerful muscles respond beneath me. This is the only honest conversation I have most days—between my body and hers, a language of pressure and release. No words needed. No lies possible.
The rhythm of her hooves against packed earth drowns out everything else until I spot him—Marcus—leaning against the black fence rail, arms crossed, watching. His pressed shirt looks ridiculous against the backdrop of working ranch buildings. His polished shoes already dusty.
"Let's take a break," Madeline suggests, noting my sudden tension.
I ignore her, asking Cassia for a flying change instead. Left to right, her legs switching mid-air with balletic precision. I want Marcus to see me controlling something this powerful, this beautiful. I want him to understand I'm not just a pretty face for his campaign posters.
"Savannah." His voice carries across the arena. "We need to talk."
Madeline looks between us, professional enough not to show curiosity. "Perhaps we should end early today?"
"That would be best," I say, patting Cassia's neck. "Thank you, Madeline."
I dismount in one fluid motion, my boots hitting the ground with a soft thud. Taking Cassia's reins, I lead her toward the barn without acknowledging Marcus. His footsteps follow behind me, crushing gravel.
"You've been avoiding me all day," he says, catching up.
"I've been busy."
"Too busy for your fiancé? After what happened last weekend?"
I keep walking, focusing on Cassia's dark mane turning copper in the sunlight. The barn door looms ahead, promising temporary sanctuary.
"Savannah." His hand catches my elbow. "My father is furious. Three donors pulled their support this morning."
I stop so abruptly that Cassia tosses her head in surprise. Turning to face Marcus, I drop my voice low enough that the stable hands can't hear.
"If you do not leave right now and stay away until I call you back, I will break things off publicly."
