Chapter One
Hallie
Surrey, England
Present day
“Holyyyyy shiiitttttt,” Sage said as she crushed me, clambering over my lap to look out the window at the most famous and exclusive equestrian training facility in the world.
I pushed on her chest to get her off me, but she was immovable, like a granite boulder. “Sage!” I protested. “I can’t breathe!”
Sage huffed in fake annoyance and sat back in her luxurious leather seat. “Hallie. You’re so dramatic. Who needs to breathe anyway?”
I raised my eyebrow at my best friend. “Er . . . just the entire human population.”
“Pfft,” she said, then batted her hand at me. “Semantics.”
I rolled my eyes at her, then glanced out the window of the town car that was driving us to Golden Oaks Equine Manor.
Fields and fields of horse paddocks met us, only to have the center of the facility come into view.
I’d grown up at Silvercrest Equestrian Center in Florida, which was arguably the best training center for show jumping in the entire US.
But this . . . I took in barn after barn, miles of perfectly manicured gallops, exercise pens, a mass of both indoor and outdoor arenas, and ancient-looking English cottages that must have been accommodation for the manor’s staff, grooms, and riders.
Acres and acres of sumptuous land stretched as far as the eye could see, dozens of horses turned out and filling every field.
Even in winter, this part of Surrey was truly an idyllic place, like something out of a Regency-era painting.
“It’s so beautiful,” Sage whispered as she rested her chin on my shoulder, drinking in the view too. I nodded, only to have to drop it when Sage’s awed voice changed to bitterness as she added, “It’s a shame that Mr. Douche Canoe lives here.”
“Sage,” I said, beyond exasperated, drawing out her name to emphasize it. “Can we please go one single day without hearing you bitch about your archnemesis?”
Sage’s mouth dropped open in obvious outrage just as we passed through a wrought-iron gate and arrived at the very stately long driveway to Golden Oaks. “As my best friend and nonblood sister, I am appalled that you’re not on my side.”
“Sage, I am on your side. You need a getaway driver? I’m there. You need help moving a body? I’m your girl. Need money? I’ll rob a damn bank for you. But for the love of God, can we please just have one day where you don’t mention Atticus Knighto—”
Sage’s hand slapped over my mouth, cutting off my words. “Hals. I love you. But do not speak his name in my presence. I’ll be forced to hurt you if you do.”
I bit down on Sage’s palm, causing her to rip her hand away on a pained hiss. “Bitch,” she snarled, shaking her injured appendage. I smirked and caught Sage’s responding smile in my periphery. Sage Miller. My best friend, the finest show jumper I knew, and certifiably insane.
I couldn’t love a person more.
Two more ornate iron gates later, we stopped at a large castle-keep-looking building.
Sage and I stared up at it through the town car’s window.
“It has columns, Hallie. Columns. I feel like we’re at the entrance to a fancy horse-themed Disney World.
” I nodded, too lost in wonder to use actual words.
“And just like Disney movies, this one has a megavillain . . .”
“And I’m done!” I said, ignoring the rest of Sage’s tirade, opening the door before the driver could get there. I could not take Sage’s hate-filled diatribe about Atticus Knighton one more time. Endless years of ear-torture was long enough.
Sage got out of the car and stood beside me, the ice-cold wind whipping around us. We stared up at the entrance to the building, all gray stone and old-world English architecture. “That was rude,” she said, nudging me in the arm.
“Sage, why did you agree to ride Knighton horses when you hate Atticus this much? You’re gonna see him here.
All the time. He lives here. This is his family estate.
His DNA is in every brick in the million-dollar stables and in every blade of grass we just passed on their gazillion acres.
This”—I gestured to the incredible equine setup around us—“is his empire. The Knightons are royalty in the horse world, you know this. They’re a powerful dynasty.
But that’s especially true in their home country.
They’re the gods in the horse world here in England. You’re the interloper.”
“Damn right I am,” she said, her Tennessee accent thickening and a sadistic kind of smirk spreading on her stunning face.
She looked like an angel but had the spirit of a hellion.
With platinum blond hair, olive skin, and the darkest of eyes, Sage Miller turned heads everywhere she went.
As well as being a natural beauty, she was the most loyal person I’d ever met.
Growing up in the same competitive circuits in the US had brought us close, even closer when she came to board at Silvercrest as a teen, but the respect and love we had for one another was what made us truly inseparable.
So much so that most jumping fans saw us as a pair, a twosome.
As did sponsors. Hence, we were here in England together.
When you got to know her, Sage was a total sweetheart, but she had a wicked streak that only one man had ever been able to stir in her.
And God help Atticus Knighton, because he had no idea what monster he’d awakened back when Sage was only eighteen.
“I’m gonna destroy him in the arenas he believes he owns, on the horses his family has bought or bred for millions of dollars.
” She smirked triumphantly. “Internal destruction.”
I sighed and rubbed a throbbing pain at the center of my forehead. We’d been awake for over twenty-four hours at this point. I was exhausted.
Eric—the driver of the town car that picked us up from the airport—placed our luggage beside us. “The estate manager will be here to greet you soon, madams,” Eric said, then: “Oh, here she is now.”
A lady with a severe blond bob approached us with two young men in tow.
The men were dressed in navy-blue breeches, Knighton Equestrian–branded navy-blue polo shirts, and insulated, waterproof jackets, with ball caps to match.
I was in my favorite cowboy boots and barn coat.
I might be an equestrian now, but I was still a cowgirl through and through.
The way I dressed and talked made good fodder for my rivals, but I didn’t give a shit.
This was who I was. Nothing would change that.
“Sage Miller and Hallie Oakley, lovely to meet you,” the lady said when she reached us.
Her delicate English accent was in stark contrast to her forest-green power suit and shrewd eyes.
“Victoria Smith, Golden Oaks’ estate and event manager.
Basically, I run this place, so if you need anything, it’s probably me who will fix it for you. ” Victoria held out her hand to me.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” I said. “Hallie.”
“Sage,” Sage said, offering her hand too.
Victoria gestured for the guys behind her to take our bags.
As they picked up our luggage, Victoria then waved for us to follow her.
“This is just the gatehouse to the property.” We passed through the open doors of the building.
My eyes were wide as I looked around the foyer.
The gatehouse had a foyer. Large oil paintings of horses filled the dark wood–paneled walls, and suits of armor—for both knights and horses—stood proudly in the corners, like they could come to life at any moment and defend Golden Oaks from ancient enemies.
I stopped dead in my tracks in front of an ornate stone fireplace when I came to an oil painting of the most handsome man I had ever seen.
Jasper Knighton.
The day I met Jasper at my aunt’s home had changed my life.
To say that I became enamored with him later in my teens was an understatement.
Jasper Knighton was a show jumping prodigy.
Ranked number one in the world for nearly a decade, he had three Olympic golds under his belt.
He dominated the sport. He was a once-in-a-generation talent. For years, no one came close to him.
I’d only ever spoken to him once, on what was one of the hardest days of my life.
Even when we competed on the same circuits, I watched him from afar or from the safety of the stands.
I wasn’t a wallflower by anyone’s estimation, but Jasper Knighton was an idol to me.
He was incredible. Untouchable. His fame in our industry unparalleled.
Together with his horse, a famous gray stallion named Lord Henry, born and bred from this very equestrian property on their stud.
My own horse, Rocky, had been my pride and joy for over a decade.
We’d swept through the Juniors and Under Twenty-Five Grand Prix.
He was retired now, back home at Silvercrest with my aunt, enjoying the sun and endless fields of grass.
He was the first love of my life. A heart horse.
In my eyes, he was perfect. But in the professional equestrian world’s eyes, Lord Henry .
. . there was none like him. The best jumping horse I’d ever seen—that anyone had ever seen. He was perfectly bred.
“That’s Jasper,” Victoria said, catching me staring at the painting. I smiled tightly, embarrassed I’d been caught. “But you probably already knew that.”
Sage’s arm came around my shoulders. “Don’t mind Hals, Victoria.
She’s just got a small case of hero worship for your boss.
” I wrapped my arm around Sage’s waist and discreetly pinched her side.
Sage flinched, then backed away with a smug grin.
My best friend knew all about my slight obsession with Jasper and liked to torture me as often as she could about my infatuation.
Sage also had zero filter and loved nothing more than embarrassing me in public. Case in point.