Marla’s POV
There was nothing I could do when Jason decided to take Chestnut and get ready for the race. I crossed my arms, watching him with a sinking feeling in my chest. I knew this was all for show. Shane, his mistress, was here, and he was putting on a performance. They thought I didn’t know about them, but I knew everything.
When the signal went off, the race began, and the horses bolted forward. Jason rode Chestnut with his usual confidence, while Shane stood beside me, clapping and yelling like a cheerleader.
"Go, Jason! Go, Chestnut!" she shouted, her voice grating on my nerves.
The way Shane cheered for Jason felt too comfortable, too practiced. It was clear she’d been in this position before, rooting for him like she belonged by his side.
Suddenly, gasps erupted from the crowd. My heart dropped as I focused back on the race. Chestnut was struggling. His pace slowed, his legs faltered, and then he stumbled, throwing Jason off to the ground.
“Oh my gosh!” Shane screamed, rushing toward Jason without a moment’s hesitation.
I stayed where I was, watching the scene unfold. Deep down, I thought he deserved it.
Minutes later, Shane returned, clinging to Jason like a lifeline, her arm wrapped around his waist. Jason’s face remained stoic, his presence commanding despite what had just happened. He walked with deliberate steps, ignoring the medical team tending to Chestnut as if it didn’t matter.
“This is your fault!” Shane snapped suddenly, spinning toward me and pointing a finger.
“You’re the one taking care of the horse, aren’t you? No wonder this happened—you’re neglecting him!”
Her voice was sharp, but her accusation didn’t faze me. I raised my hands, not out of guilt but frustration.
“What are you talking about?” I said sharply. “That horse was handed to me today.”
Before I could say more, Jason’s cold, firm voice cut through.
“Enough.”
I froze. His gaze shifted to Shane, silencing her immediately. His tone didn’t rise, but the authority in it was undeniable.
He leaned closer to Shane, speaking in low tones I couldn’t hear, and she nodded, still looking upset. Jason then turned to me briefly, his eyes narrowing as if daring me to say another word. I didn’t.
Minutes later, Chestnut was back on the field, looking far too weak to be running again.
“Chestnut, go!” Shane yelled, bouncing with excitement.
Jason’s attention was fully on the horse now, his posture relaxed but deliberate. He didn’t rush. Instead, he stood still, waiting for the animal to approach him, and it did, obediently.
I noticed the way Jason interacted with Chestnut. His movements were precise, almost calculated. It wasn’t kindness—it was control. Even the horse seemed to understand who held the power here.
Shane, hovering beside him, asked softly, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Jason gave her a glance, but he smiled at her, a genuine smile I never received from him, “I’m fine.”
She brushed her hand against his arm, her touch lingering. Jason allowed it for a moment before running his fingers through her hair, as if he owned her. Their gazes locked, and the connection between them was obvious.
Watching them, my chest tightened with anger.
The race organizers announced a break, and people began to wander around. I thought about sitting next to Jason, but Shane beat me to it, slipping into the seat beside him like it was her rightful place.
“Is it okay if I sit here?” she asked sweetly, though she didn’t wait for an answer.
I stayed quiet, biting back the urge to lash out. Let her act like she was winning. I knew better than to challenge Jason openly in public.
As soon as Shane sat down, she grabbed Jason’s hand without hesitation, intertwining her fingers with his. What angered me even more is that he didn’t pull away. He let her.
The whispers from the crowd reached my ears, sharp and cruel.
“Isn’t Jason engaged to Marla? Why does it look like there’s something between him and Shane?” someone murmured.
“Why isn’t Marla saying anything? Doesn’t she care?” another voice added.
I swallowed the shame building inside me. Their judgment felt like a weight pressing down on me.
The speakers boomed, cutting through the murmurs.
“Everyone, we have an announcement! There’s going to be another racing competition. Riders, get ready and prepare your horses!”
The energy picked up again as people gathered in excitement. Shane turned to Jason, her voice dripping with smugness.
“I placed a $50,000 bet to support Marla’s horse!” she said, loud enough for me to hear.
Her tone made my blood boil, and her smirk was infuriating when she glanced at me.
“Thanks,” I said flatly, refusing to give her the reaction she wanted.
Inside, I was agitated. Let her brag. Let her think she had the upper hand.
It wouldn’t last forever.
