Chapter 3

CLARA POV

**The next afternoon, I found myself drawn back to the stables, a moth to a flame I now knew would burn me. It was a masochistic need to confront the ghosts of my past.** I ran a hand over the polished leather of the saddle on my favorite mare, Starlight. It was a gift from Sterling, custom-made for my sixteenth birthday.

I remembered how he'd presented it to me, his usual stoic expression betraying a flicker of pride. He'd said nothing, just nodded, but I had interpreted his silence as a profound declaration. How wrong I was. His every action was a performance, a duty. The thought made the beautiful, hand-tooled leather feel cheap and tainted.

To escape the suffocating memories, I swung myself into the saddle and urged Starlight into a gallop. The wind whipped at my face, a welcome sting that helped clear my head. I pushed her faster, faster, letting the rhythmic pounding of her hooves against the earth drown out the venomous whispers in my mind.

Suddenly, the world lurched sideways.

The saddle, my anchor, slipped violently. My heart leaped into my throat as I lost my balance, my hands scrabbling for a hold that wasn't there. Starlight, startled by the shifting weight, bucked hard. I was going to be thrown.

A scream tore from my lungs, a raw, primal sound of terror.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them. The Sons of the Ranch. They were supposed to be watching, supposed to be my protectors. But they were gathered in a circle, laughing, their attention completely captivated by Savannah, who was weaving a crown of wildflowers.

Then, a blur of motion.

Sterling moved with the impossible speed of a predator. Before I could even process what was happening, he was there, his powerful body moving in sync with my falling one. He caught me, his arms banding around my waist, breaking my fall and pulling me against his chest as he brought the panicked horse to a halt.

For a moment, I was just... held. His heart hammered against my back, his breath hot on my neck. The world smelled of him-sweat, leather, and something uniquely Sterling. The old, familiar ache of longing rose in my chest, a phantom limb I thought I had amputated.

He let me go almost immediately, his hands checking me over for injuries with an impersonal efficiency. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," I mumbled, pushing his hands away.

His jaw was tight, his gaze flinty as he turned on Wade. "You were supposed to check her tack! This cinch is loose. She could have broken her neck!"

Wade paled, stammering an apology. **Sterling carried me back to the house like I was a fragile doll, his expression unreadable. He set me down on the porch swing and tended to my scraped elbow with a gentleness that felt like a lie. This wasn't care. This was damage control. I felt nothing but a hollow coldness where my love for him used to be.**

Later that night, unable to sleep, I walked onto the veranda for some air. And I heard them again. Hushed voices from the garden below. Sterling and Savannah.

"I can't believe you did that," Sterling's voice was a low, angry hiss. "What if I hadn't been there? What were you thinking?"

"I didn't think she'd actually fall!" Savannah's voice was a childish whine. "I just... I loosened it a little. I wanted to scare her. She was looking at you, and I got jealous. I didn't mean for her to get hurt!"

My blood ran cold.

It wasn't an accident. It wasn't negligence. It was deliberate.

"You're lucky I was watching," Sterling said, his anger softening into a sigh of resignation. "I'll handle it. I'll make sure the others think it was Wade's mistake."

He was covering for her. His expert care, his anger at Wade, it was all an act to protect the real culprit. The girl who had tried to hurt me out of petty jealousy.

A single, hot tear traced a path down my cheek. This wasn't just a game of hearts anymore. They weren't just deceiving me.

They were trying to break me.