My Billionaire Husband Neglected Me for Another Woman (Billionaire Marriage in Crisis #22)

1. Delilah

— ? —

Delilah

Nine Years Ago

The first time I saw Lucas Montoya, he was losing a fight with a horse.

I didn’t know he was a billionaire. Didn’t know his family owned half the oil in Texas and the other half of its cattle. Didn’t know his face had graced the covers of magazines I’d never read and galas I’d never attend.

All I knew was that some fool in a pressed white shirt was about to get his skull cracked open.

I was up on Stella, running her through her afternoon cooldown along the far fence line, when I heard the commotion from the main paddock. Shouting. The sharp whinny of a horse in distress. The unmistakable sound of hooves striking wood.

I pulled Stella around and squinted against the afternoon sun.

That’s when I saw him.

Just a silhouette at first - broad shoulders, tall frame, moving with a confidence that had no business being in that paddock. A black stallion circled him like a shark, ears flat, muscles coiled. The horse reared, hooves slicing the air, and the man stumbled backward but didn’t run.

Something about the way he moved. The way he stood his ground.

I couldn’t look away.

“Delilah!”

Mr. Patterson’s voice cut through the chaos. I tore my gaze from the paddock to see my boss hobbling toward me, waving his arms like a man trying to flag down a rescue plane.

“Get down here! Now!”

I swung off Stella and handed the reins to one of the stable hands, then jogged over to meet Patterson halfway. He was red-faced and sweating, which meant money was involved. Lots of it.

“What’s going on?”

“That man over there-” Patterson grabbed my arm and steered me toward the paddock. “That’s Lucas. Lucas Montoya.”

I glanced back at the figure still circling with the stallion. From here I could make out more details. Dark hair, disheveled from the struggle. Tanned skin. The kind of jaw that looked like it had been carved from the same limestone that made up these Texas hills.

“You’ve probably heard of his family,” Patterson continued, practically dragging me forward.

“Yes. I have.”

Everyone had heard of the Montoyas. Old money. Oil money. The kind of money that built hospitals and named wings after themselves. The kind of money that existed in a universe completely separate from mine.

“Well, as you can see-” Patterson gestured at the chaos unfolding in the paddock, “-he needs some help.”

The stallion screamed and struck out, narrowly missing Lucas’s shoulder. He dodged, stumbled, caught himself on the fence.

“And I thought you might be the only person who can help him,” Patterson finished.

I was about to respond when Lucas looked up.

Our eyes met.

And everything else just… stopped.

Dark eyes. Not brown - darker than that. Like coffee before the cream. Like the sky right before a storm rolls in. They locked onto mine across the fifty feet of dust and chaos between us, and I felt it hit me square in the chest.

He felt it too. I could tell by the way he went still. The way his lips parted slightly. The way he stared at me like I was the only solid thing in a spinning world.

The horse took advantage of his distraction. Reared up with a scream that shattered the moment.

Lucas spun back around, hands up, and the spell broke - but not really. Not completely. I could still feel the echo of it humming under my skin.

“Well?” Patterson prompted. “Will you help him or not? I’ve got a lot riding on this, Delilah. A lot of-”

The stallion charged the fence. Wood splintered. Patterson yelped and stumbled backward.

“Fine,” I said, already moving toward the paddock. “I’ve got it.”

“Good. I’ll just - I’ll be in my office. If you need anything-”

He was already retreating. Typical Patterson. Happy to make promises, less happy to be anywhere near the consequences.

I climbed onto the fence rail and perched there, watching. The stallion had backed off to the far corner of the paddock, sides heaving, eyes rolling white. Lucas stood in the center, breathing hard, a streak of dirt across his cheek.

He looked up at me.

Those eyes again. God.

“You need help?” I asked.

Something flickered across his face. Surprise, maybe. Most people probably didn’t talk to Lucas Montoya like he was just some guy struggling with a horse.

“That’s what I came for.” His voice was deeper than I expected. A low rumble, like thunder rolling in from the hill country. “I heard you might be the only one who can help him.”

“That so?”

“They say you can train anything. That you’ve never met a horse you couldn’t break.”

I bristled at that. “I don’t break horses, Mr. Montoya. I listen to them.”

“Lucas,” he said. “And if you can listen to this one, you’re better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

I looked at the stallion. He was pacing now, muscles coiled, watching me with those wild, wounded eyes. I’d seen that look before. In horses. In people. The look of something that had been hurt so badly it had forgotten how to trust.

“Is he wild?” I asked.

“He was born wild. Then someone tried to beat it out of him.” Lucas’s jaw tightened, and I saw real anger there. Real pain. “I rescued him. Auction down in Mexico. He was half-dead when I found him.”

“And you brought him back.”

“I couldn’t leave him there.”

I studied this man. This man could have bought a hundred perfectly trained horses but instead chose to save a broken one.

“What’s his name?” I asked.

“Storm.”

“Storm.” I let the name roll around my mouth. Tested it. “How long have you had him?”

“Two years. Twelve different trainers. Best in the country.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through. “He put three of them in the hospital.”

“And you still keep him.”

“He deserves someone who won’t give up on him.”

Something warm unfurled in my chest. Something dangerous.

The stallion - Storm - had stopped pacing. He was watching me now, ears still flat, but there was something else in his stance. Curiosity, maybe. Or challenge.

“I like a good challenge,” I murmured.

Then I dropped down into the paddock.

“Wait-” Lucas started forward, but I was already walking toward the center of the arena.

Storm exploded. He reared, hooves slashing, that terrible scream tearing from his throat. I didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. Just stood there with my hands at my sides and let him rage.

He came down hard, snorting, pawing at the dirt. Charged at me - then veered away at the last second, close enough that I felt the wind of his passing. Testing. Seeing if I’d run.

I didn’t.

“You’re angry,” I said, low and steady. “I get it. You’ve got every right to be.”

Storm tossed his head, circling me at a distance. His breathing was ragged. His coat was dark with sweat.

“But here’s the thing.” I took one small step forward. He snorted but didn’t bolt. “I’m not them. I’m not the ones who hurt you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Another step. He stamped his foot, warning me.

“You can keep fighting. You can keep pushing everyone away. But eventually, you’re going to have to trust someone.” I stopped. Waited. “Why not me?”

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then Storm did something he’d never done with anyone but Lucas.

He took a step toward me.

One step. Then another. His head lowered slightly, nostrils working as he scented the air around me. I stayed perfectly still, barely breathing, as this magnificent, broken creature decided whether I was worth the risk.

He stopped three feet away. Close enough that I could see the old scars crisscrossing his shoulders. Close enough that I could hear the frightened rabbit-quick of his heartbeat.

Slowly - so slowly - I raised my hand.

He flinched. But he didn’t run.

My fingers brushed his muzzle. Velvet-soft. Trembling.

“There you go,” I whispered. “There you go, beautiful. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

Storm exhaled. A long, shuddering breath. And then-

He leaned into my touch.

I don’t know how long we stood there. Long enough for the sun to shift. Long enough for the small crowd that had gathered at the fence to go completely silent.

When I finally turned around, Lucas Montoya was staring at me with his jaw hanging open.

Just… dropped. Like a cartoon character who’d witnessed something impossible.

“How…” He shook his head, seemed to remember how to close his mouth. “How did you do that?”

I scratched behind Storm’s ears - something that would’ve gotten anyone else’s hand bitten off - and felt the horse relax into it.

“Like I said. I listened.”

I climbed back over the fence, Storm whickering softly behind me like he was sorry to see me go. Lucas was waiting on the other side, and up close I could see his hands were shaking slightly. This man who reportedly ran a billion-dollar empire, shaken by watching a woman pet a horse.

“That’s the first time,” he said quietly. “That’s the first time he’s let anyone touch him. Besides me.”

“He’s not as far gone as you think. He just needed someone who wasn’t afraid of him.”

“Everyone’s afraid of him. Trainers with thirty years of experience have walked out of that paddock. One guy actually cried.” A disbelieving laugh escaped him. “You walked in there like you were meeting a friend for coffee.”

“Horses can smell fear. If I’d gone in scared, he would’ve known.”

“Were you? Scared?”

I considered lying. Decided not to.

“Terrified,” I admitted. “But I’ve learned not to let it show.”

Something shifted in his expression. Respect, maybe. Or something deeper.

“I want to hire you,” he said.

“I have a job.”

“Name your price.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. “Mr. Montoya-”

“Lucas.”

“-I don’t train for money. I train because I love it. And I don’t leave a job half-done.”

“Then let me make you a different kind of offer.” He stepped closer. Close enough that I caught his scent - leather and cedar and something warm underneath. “Ninety days. Give me ninety days of your time. Train Storm.”

“And?”

“And train me to ride him.”

I blinked. “You want to ride him yourself?”

“He’s my horse. He should know me. Trust me.” His dark eyes held mine. “The way he just trusted you.”

“That could take years. It could take forever. Some horses never-”

“I’m not most people.”

No. I was starting to see that.