They Said I Did Not Belong, So I Won Anyway novel · Chapter 4 of 5

Chapter 4: The Price He Thinks He Paid

Julian placed the envelope beside my saddle and told me Victor would never pay me what I was worth.

The envelope landed on the wooden bench between us. Thick. Cream-colored. Full enough to matter.

‘Mara,’ he said.

He used my name without softness. That was Julian’s version of concern.

The wash bay smelled of wet leather, soap, and the warm sour breath of horses waiting in the next row. Water ran through the drain under my boots.

I looked at the envelope.

‘How much?’

‘Enough to cover what you need until your first fee clears.’

‘That wasn’t my question.’

His mouth tightened. He had learned that I did not fill silence for men who enjoyed making women do it.

‘Five thousand.’

Dani’s tuition sat inside that number. So did her rent, her textbooks, and the fee she still owed the veterinary college from last term.

I reached for the envelope.

Julian caught my wrist before my fingers touched it.

His hand closed around me carefully. The pressure still carried a warning.

‘You’re taking it without asking why.’

‘You put it beside my saddle.’

‘That isn’t an answer.’

‘It’s the location of the money.’

His eyes stayed on my face. Dark. Patient. Annoyed by the fact that I could make him work for every word.

I pulled against his hand once.

He let go.

The place where he had held me stayed warm under my sleeve.

‘It’s an advance,’ he said. ‘Against your Blackthorn riding fees.’

‘Victor approved it?’

‘Victor doesn’t know.’

‘Then it isn’t an advance.’

‘Call it what you like.’

‘That usually costs extra.’

Something shifted at the corner of his mouth. It vanished before it became a smile.

He had not come here to joke.

‘You’re being investigated,’ he said. ‘You have two injured horses attached to your name, and half the stable is waiting for you to make one mistake.’

‘The stable can wait.’

‘The racing board won’t.’

‘Then they should find a chair.’

His gaze dropped to my left arm.

Celeste had pressed her fingers there during the winner’s photograph. The bruises had spread beneath the skin, yellow at the edges and dark in the middle.

Julian saw them through the rolled sleeve of my shirt.

His face changed by almost nothing.

That was enough.

‘She did that,’ he said.

‘You were there.’

‘I saw her hand.’

‘Then you saw it.’

‘You didn’t say anything.’

‘The photographer wanted me to hold still.’

‘You could have stepped away.’

‘Victor wanted the picture.’

‘Victor wants many things.’

‘He usually gets them.’

Julian reached for the envelope again, but his hand stopped beside it.

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