The air at Willowbrook Equestrian Estate was thick with the heavy, organic perfume of the world I had been born into—leather, sweet hay, and the sharp, metallic tang of cold river water. It was a smell that usually made my stomach churn, a reminder of the years I'd spent being groomed for a life that was never quite mine. But today, it felt like an opportunity.
I adjusted the collar of my charcoal riding jacket, the wool stiff and expensive against my neck. In the mirror of the dressing room, I looked like a different version of the girl who had been crushed at the dinner on the 72nd floor. The emerald dress was gone, replaced by the clinical, monochromatic precision of a seasoned rider. My hair was tied back in a low, tight bun, not a single strand daring to escape the velvet helmet. I looked benevolent. I looked established. I looked like the kind of sister an eleven-year-old girl would dream of having.
Beside me, Julian Vance leaned against the mahogany doorframe, a silver flask in one hand and a look of pure, unadulterated amusement in his eyes. He was wearing tailored breeches and a linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looking less like a politician's son and more like a predator who had decided to spend his afternoon watching the gazelles.
"A ranch, Wren?" Julian asked, his voice low and rich with that dangerous, Chuck Bass-style gravel. He took a slow sip from the flask, his eyes tracking the way I adjusted my gloves. "It's a bit... nostalgic, don't you think? The last time we were here together, you were trying to outrun a scandal and I was trying to convince you that the scandal was the most interesting thing about you."
"I'm not here for nostalgia, Julian," I said, turning to face him. I kept my expression neutral, but I could feel the familiar, electric hum of his presence. It was a poison I knew too well, a frequency that my body still remembered how to tune into. "I'm here because Lora Ashworth has a ten o'clock lesson with head trainer. And because you're my chaperone for our bi-weekly meeting, as per the NDA."
Julian's eyes brightened, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. He didn't ask how I knew the schedule. He didn't ask why I wanted to be here. He didn't have to. He had been the one who taught me that information was the only currency that never devalued.
"The legal wife's daughter," he whispered, the words sounding like a caress. He stepped closer, the scent of expensive bourbon and something metallic—the silver of his flask, perhaps—washing over me. "You're not going for the board seat anymore, are you? You're going for the heart of the home. It's a bold move, even for you."
"She's a child, Julian," I said, though my voice didn't have the conviction of a protector. "She's innocent. And she's the only person in the Ashworth world who hasn't been taught to hate me yet."
"Yet," Julian echoed. He reached out, his thumb tracing the sharp line of my jaw. I didn't flinch, though every nerve ending in my body screamed at the touch. It was the same touch he'd used when I was sixteen, the same touch that had made me believe I was the only thing in the world that mattered to him. "You're going to be the benevolent elder sister. The one who understands her. The one who is better at everything she wants to be. It's brilliant, Wren. It's surgical."
He pulled his hand back, his smile widening. "And I suppose I'm the charming family friend? The one who validates your status and makes the whole thing look like a happy accident?"
"If you're capable of playing a teammate," I said, looking him in the eye.
Julian let out a short, sharp laugh. "Wren, darling, I've been playing for your team since the day we met. I just occasionally like to remind you who the captain is."
He held out his arm, a mockingly polite gesture that felt like a challenge. "Shall we? The little princess should be finishing her warm-ups by now."
We walked out of the stables and toward the main arena, the sun reflecting off the white-painted fences. The sound of hooves hitting the soft dirt was a rhythmic pulse, a heartbeat for the plan that was already in motion.
Lora was there. She was smaller than I'd expected, a slight girl with the same pale blonde hair as Rosemund, but with eyes that were still soft, still curious. She was mounted on a grey pony that looked far too expensive for a beginner, her posture stiff with the kind of anxiety that came from having a mother who demanded perfection in every arena.
I watched her for a moment from the sidelines. She was struggling with her transitions, her hands too heavy on the reins, the pony tossing its head in frustration. I saw the trainer—a tall, stern man in a Thorne-branded vest—saying something that made Lora's shoulders hunch even further.
She was afraid. Not of the horse, but of the failure.
"She's a Thorne in everything but name," Julian whispered beside me. "Stiff, terrified of a public mistake, and desperately looking for someone to tell her it's okay to breathe."
He looked at me, his eyes sharp. "Go on. Be the air."
I didn't hesitate. I walked toward the gate, my boots crunching on the gravel. I waited for a break in the lesson, then I stepped into the arena just as Lora pulled the pony to a messy, jarring halt.
"You're holding your breath, Lora," I said. My voice was calm, melodic, stripped of any of the jagged edges I'd shown Rosemund. It was the voice of a sanctuary.
Lora looked up, her eyes widening as she saw me. She didn't recognize me—not yet—but she saw the way I stood, the way I wore the gear, the way I looked at the pony. She saw a peer.
"Who are you?" the trainer asked, his voice sharp with authority.
"Wren Ashworth," I said, and for the first time, I didn't say it as a challenge. I said it as an introduction. I looked at Lora, a soft, encouraging smile on my face. "And I'm your sister. Though I suppose 'elder sister' is the more accurate term."
The trainer froze. He knew the name. Everyone in the Ashworth-Thorne circle knew the name after the dinner on the 72nd floor. But he couldn't stop me. I was a family member, and I was with Julian Vance, the Governor's son, who was currently leaning against the arena fence with the casual authority of a god.
"Wren?" Lora whispered. Her voice was small, hesitant. She looked at me with a mixture of confusion and awe. "The... the one from the papers?"
"The one from the family," I corrected her gently. I walked closer, my hand reaching out to stroke the pony's neck. The animal settled immediately, its ears flickering toward me. I knew horses. I had spent years using them to escape the reality of my life, and that skill was about to become my most lethal weapon. "Your hands are too tight, Lora. You're trying to control him with force, but he's too big for that. You have to control him with your seat. Like this."
I didn't wait for permission. I asked the trainer if I could demonstrate, and before he could find a reason to say no, I had mounted a nearby bay gelding. I rode with a precision that was undeniable—a fluid, effortless connection that made the horse look like an extension of my own body. I performed a series of perfect transitions, my posture relaxed, my eyes always on Lora.
When I finished, I rode back to her, the bay's coat glistening with a light sweat.
"See?" I asked softly. "He wants to work with you, not against you. You just have to let him in."
Lora was staring at me, her mouth slightly open. The fear in her eyes had been replaced by a raw, unfiltered admiration. I could see the hooks sinking in, the way she was already comparing my ease to her mother's rigidity.
"That was... amazing," she whispered. "Can you show me how to do that? My trainer just yells when I get it wrong."
"I'd love to," I said, and the lie felt as smooth as the silk of my gloves. "In fact, I'm going to be in the city a lot more now. I could come by every week, if you'd like. We could ride together."
"Really?" Lora's face transformed, a genuine, joyful smile breaking through the Thorne mask. "Could you? Mom says I have to be the best, but I just want to... not fall off."
"You won't fall off," I promised, leaning down from the saddle to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear. It was a maternal gesture, a sisterly gesture, and it was the most dishonest thing I had ever done. "I'll make sure of it."
I looked over at the fence. Julian was watching us, his eyes dark with a thrill that mirrored my own. He knew exactly what was happening. He saw the way I was weaving myself into the fabric of Lora's life, becoming the 'safe' alternative to her mother's coldness.
He stepped toward the gate, his charm on full display as he greeted Lora. He spoke to her with a level of respect and interest that no one else in her world probably ever did, asking about the pony's name, commenting on her 'excellent' form. He was the perfect teammate, reinforcing the idea that I was part of a glamorous, powerful world that little Lora was now being invited into.
For a moment, as I sat on the bay, watching Julian effortlessly charm my sister, I felt a rush of something I hadn't expected.
It wasn't just satisfaction. It was intoxication.
Working with Julian wasn't like working with Hayes. With Hayes, everything was heavy with the weight of morality, of protection, of the 'right' thing to do. But with Julian... it was light. It was brilliant. Our minds were synchronized, a pair of high-performance engines running on the same dark fuel. There was no need for explanations, no need for guilt. There was only the game, and the exquisite, terrifying power of winning it.
I felt alive in a way I hadn't felt since I'd arrived in Millhaven. I felt like I was back in the cockpit of my own life, with a co-pilot who knew exactly how to handle the turbulence.
"You're coming back on Thursday, right?" Lora asked, her small hand reaching out to touch my boot. "Please? I want to show you my other pony, Jasper."
"I'll be here, Lora," I said, looking down at her with a warmth that I realized, with a start, was beginning to feel almost real. Or maybe that was just part of the intoxication. "I promise."
As we walked back to the car later, the silence between Julian and me was different than it had been in the stables. The air was charged with the electricity of our successful strike.
"Thursday, then?" Julian asked as he opened the car door for me. He didn't look at me; he looked at the horizon, his profile sharp and predatory against the afternoon sun. "I suppose I'll have to rearrange my schedule. A Governor's son's work is never done, especially when there are hearts to be broken."
"You don't have to come, Julian," I said, though I knew it was a lie. I wanted him there. I wanted the feeling of our minds clicking together, the feeling of being understood without a single word.
Julian finally looked at me, a slow, knowing smile curling his lips. "Oh, I'll be there, Wren. I wouldn't miss the next act for the world. You're a very talented actress, darling. But remember... I'm the one who knows exactly which part of this is a performance, and which part is you finally coming home."
He closed the door, and as the car pulled away, I watched Lora in the distance, a small, lonely figure in the arena.
I was the wolf in sister's clothing. I was the dark ghost Rosemund had tried to bury. And as I leaned back into the leather seats, the scent of Julian's bourbon lingering in the air, I realized that I didn't just want the Ashworth crown anymore.
I wanted the feeling of this power. I wanted the feeling of Julian by my side. And I was willing to burn every bridge to Millhaven to keep it.