His eyes widen, then narrow. The political calculation happens instantly behind them—what it would cost him if I walked away. Millions of followers. The Ashby name. The land. The money.
"Is that a threat?" he asks, voice smooth as river stones.
I say nothing. Just stare at him with the emptiness I learned from my mother's camera lens. Sometimes silence is the only power we have.
He straightens his cuffs—a nervous habit I've cataloged along with all his other tells. "We'll talk when you're being reasonable."
I watch him walk away, his shoulders stiff under expensive fabric. Only when his car disappears down the drive do I exhale, pressing my forehead against Cassia's warm neck. She smells like sweat, and summer dust, and everything real.
Inside the barn's cool shadow, I untack her methodically. Each motion practiced until it feels like prayer. The leather saddle creaks as I lift it to the rack, and something in me creaks too—some weight I've been carrying too long.
I bathe Cassia until her coat gleams, speaking softly to her about nothing. The hose water runs cool over her legs, washing away arena dust. She stands patient, trusting, as I focus on herand only her. This fourteen-hundred-pound animal who could crush me, but chooses to be my ballet partner instead.
After grooming, I turn her out to graze in the east pasture. Watching her for longer than necessary. She lowers her head to the grass, peaceful and unburdened by expectations.
I don't make a conscious decision. My feet just carry me to the Range Rover, no need for keys, I leave them in glove box when I'm at home. I don't change out of my riding clothes—the white breeches, the tall boots still flecked with water from Cassia's bath. My hair is coming loose from its braid and I make no move to fix it.
The engine purrs to life, expensive and obedient. I back out too fast, gravel spittin’ under my tires. Cash's truck is by the main house. He'll know I've gone somewhere.
Let him wonder.
I drive without admitting where I'm going, even to myself. But my hands know. They turn the wheel toward the county road, away from town. Toward the creek bed that separates Ashby land from Kane land.
The road narrows, trees pressing closer on either side. My hands grip the wheel tighter. The diamond on my left hand catches the sunlight, throwing prisms across the dashboard. I should have taken it off. I should turn around. I should call Marcus and apologize.
I don't.
The trailer comes into view and I hit the brakes so hard the seatbelt locks across my chest.
What the hell?
Where Legion's dilapidated single-wideshould bestands something else entirely—a brand-new double-wide with fresh charcoal black siding, a wide covered porch, and… shutters.
What the actual fuck is happening here?
I look around. Did I take a wrong turn?
No. There's the Kane mailbox. Still sad and still crooked.
Where the hell did this house come from?
I sit frozen, engine idling. Part of me wants to reverse, pretend I never came. But then the door opens, and out bounces Mercy.
She waves at me from the porch. Smiling.
I don't think I've ever seen that child smile.
"Hey, Savannah!" she calls. "Come inside and see our new house!”
