Chapter 23
Colter’s hand is hot against the small of my back, steady and immovable. It’s not a guiding touch. It’s a claim. Like he’s branded me here in front of everyone, and I can feel every set of eyes burn hotter because of it.
I hate that it works. That tiny circle of heat anchors me when my instincts scream to run.
My pulse won’t slow, not with Oliver Maine standing so close.
Not with Colter coiled like a predator at my side.
I can practically feel the danger vibrating off him, even while his voice drips that lazy amusement, the kind meant to cut arteries while everyone else thinks it’s a joke.
The room tilts with too much light, too many bodies pressing in.
I’ve lived my entire life learning to make myself smaller in crowds like this.
Smiling just enough, nodding at the right moments, never drawing attention I couldn’t afford.
But at Colter’s side, that’s impossible.
People notice us. They notice him and the way he touches me.
When Oliver’s gaze dips one more time down the line of my dress, I know Colter see’s it too. His body tightens, subtle but sharp, like a blade being drawn. My breath catches. God, I almost pity Oliver. Almost.
I lean closer, my lips barely brushing Colter’s shoulder as I whisper, “Don’t.”
It’s the only word I can manage.
His thumb moved in a single, slow stroke against my spine, and I don’t know it’s a promise or a warning. Standing here, trapped between him and a room full of vultures, I realize something I can’t un-know:
The leash he is holding isn’t on himself.
It’s on me.
“There you are,” a syrupy voice cuts through the tension, shattering the fragile, dangerous bubble we’ve been standing in. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
Melanie.
His girlfriend. Or at least the girl that gives him blowjobs.
The words cut through me like broken glass.
Anger bubble hot and violent in my chest, threatening to spill over like lava.
How dare he put his hands on me and stake some kind of silent claim when he already belongs to someone else.
His touch had distracted me from the one fact I shouldn’t have forgotten. He’s off-limits. Untouchable.
Her sudden appearance is the shock of ice water I need, snapping my head back into place.
While Colter’s attention flicks toward her, I slip out of his grip like smoke.
The loss of his heat is immediate, but I ignore it, edging closer to his father’s side.
Hudson Shaw’s smirk says he noticed everything but has been choosing not to comment.
His arm drapes gently across my shoulders, shielding me with ease of a man who knows exactly what game his son is playing.
“Melanie,” Colter greets, flat as stone. No warmth. No apology. Only her name, stripped down to the bone.
“Sorry I’m so late.” She laughs breathlessly, as though tardiness were a charming flaw. “My driver up and quit yesterday without notice and I had to wait for Mother’s driver to be free. Honestly, you can’t find hardworking people anymore.”
A snort presses against the back of my throat, sharp and bitter, but I swallow it. Barely. If I had to work for her, I’d quit too. Beside me, Hudson’s shoulders tremble with quiet laughter.
“Well.” He clears his throat, polite but amused. “Since Colter is now otherwise occupied, why don’t I introduce you to a few people, Peyton?”
“Oh…” I hesitate, caught tween the trap of politeness and the burn of Colter’s stare.
“She won’t be comfortable with that,” Colter cuts in, his voice low and venomous, mean only for his father but loud enough to coil through me too. “You don’t need to—”
“I’d love to,” I interrupt, my tone sharper than I intend, but it’s too late to take back. How dare he try to speak for me. How dare he pretend to know me.
For one breathless second, I meet Colter’s eyes across the space between us. His jaw flexes. His hand curls at his side like he’s imagining dragging me back to him by force. The silent warning in his gaze is unmistakable: You’re mine, whether you like it or not.
But I’m already turning toward Hudson, forcing a bright smile, ignoring the way my knees want to buckle under the weight of that look.
If Colter thinks I’m going to be leashed, he’s about to find out how hard I pull when someone yanks too tight.
Hudson places my hand in the crook of his arm and leads me through the throng of guests. Several of them stop to speak to him, and he introduces me. The women are studying me. Their sharp gazes dressing me down. They know who I am. Everyone here does and they are sizing me up. Seeing if I belong.
I don’t.
The men are more welcome. Kinder. A few of them let their gazes linger a bit too long, but with Hudson at my side, they wouldn’t dare anything.
There are so many introductions that there is no way in hell I’ll ever remember all their names, but I smile politely.
He leads me to a large dining area set with opulent round tables decorated in tall orchids and strands of pearls.
“I have you seated next to me,” Hudson says smoothly, his voice carrying enough authority to remind me this isn’t really a choice.
He pulls out my chair with practiced ease, pushing it in once I sit.
Colter drops into the chair on my left, his presence heavy and unshakable.
Hudson claims the space on my right with Jackson on his other side.
Across from me, Lee and Pace flank Sutton and John.
Sutton catches my eye, her painted lips curving into a small, reassuring smile, but it barely dents the unease churning in my stomach.
My thoughts scatter, restless and sharp, as the low hum of voices swells around the room.
More guests drift to their seats, crystal glasses clinking softly, silverware gleaming under the chandelier’s golden light.
I don’t even know why I’m here.
The party is to celebrate Justify’s win at the Belmont Stakes, but I hadn’t been a part of that, other than to help get the horses ready to leave.
I hadn’t even gone, sadly enough. Yet here I am, wrapped in silk and heels, forced to play dress-up in a world that feels like it’s slowly strangling me.
“Why are you so tense?” Colter leans closer, his brow furrowed as though my discomfort personally offends him.
“This isn’t my kind of scene,” I admit, my voice flat but honest.
Not likely. Not ever.
“John tells me your riding is coming along,” Hudson says casually, as if he’s discussing the weather.
His gaze slides toward me, sharp under the smooth veneer.
My head tilts, curiosity tugging at me despite myself.
Does John really share my clumsy days at Broken Ridge with him? “Tells me you’re a natural.”
A dry laugh slips out before I can stop it. “I’m not sure about that,” I say, twisting the napkin in my lap. “One horse bolted on me, and I couldn’t even get him to slow down.”
Hudson’s mouth curves into a knowing smile. “But you didn’t fall off.” His chin tips in acknowledgement. “From what I was told, there was a rattler on the trail. Those aren’t common and you handled it very well.”
My fork stills the plate, my pulse kicking.
He knows. About the rattlesnake. About me freezing on that trail.
About Colter being the one to—I cut that thought off fast, my throat tightening.
Who told him? John? Colter? Why does it seem that this man, who I’ve only met once, knows everything about my day?
Hudson’s eyes flicker with a spark of something unreadable before he adds, softer this time. “It’s not surprising, really. Your mother was a natural herself.”
The words land like a stone in my chest.
For a second, the clatter of silverware and the hum of voices around the table dull to nothing. My mother. Nobody ever talks about her. Not here. Not at home. As if pretending she never existed makes it easier.
“She used to barrel race,” Hudson continues, almost fondly. “Did shows when she was younger. She had…a way with horses.”
The breath leaves me sharp, uneven. I grip the stem of my glass too tightly, knuckles whitening, the cool crystal biting against my skin. A thousand questions fight to push past my lips, but they stick like barbed wire in my throat.
Colter shifts beside me, the heat of his gaze pulling me back to the present. His hand brushes against my knee under the table—a warning, or maybe an anchor.
I can’t tell which.
But for the first time all night, my mask slips. My chest aches with something raw, something dangerous. Because for all the control Colter tries to hold over me, for all the possessive fury simmering under his skin, it’s Hudson who cracked me open with one sentence.
And I don’t know which of them terrifies me more.
I blink fast, focusing on the gleam of the chandelier above me, on the delicate fold of my napkin—on anything but the sudden burn behind my eyes.
“She never told me that,” I manage, my voice thin, too careful.
Hudson’s smile lingers like he’s aware of the storm he’s stirred. “She wouldn’t have. Your mother was private about certain.” He lifts his glass in an absent toast before taking a sip. “But she was proud of her skill.”
My throat tightens. Proud. A word I’ve never been able to attach to her in my memory. All I can recall is distant, bitter, the way her gaze always slid past me like I was too disappointing to look at directly.
“Peyton.” Sutton’s soft voice draws me back, her hand brushing mine where it rests against the tablecloth. The warmth in her eyes is gentle, knowing. A lifeline.
I force a small smile, nodding once. “Excuse me,” I whisper, pushing back my chair before anyone else can trap with another memory I didn’t ask for.
Colter’s hand shoots out, curling around my wrist under the table. His grip is firm, not enough to stop me, but enough to remind me he could. His gaze cuts to mine, sharp and possessive, a silent message carved deep: Don’t run from me.