19. Lucas
— ? —
Lucas
I’m walking back to the main house when I see her.
Aimie. Standing by the stable entrance like she’s been waiting for me. Hair perfect, smile bright, looking like she just stepped out of a catalog instead of the aftermath of a storm that left branches scattered across every path.
“Hey!” She falls into step beside me, matching my pace even though I haven’t slowed down. “I noticed you didn’t sleep here last night. What happened? I heard Rosa had to watch Allana.”
I keep walking. “Rosa’s like family. She’s been taking care of Allana since she was born.”
“Of course, of course.” Her voice is light, casual. “I just meant - you know, if you need help with anything. I’m always here.”
The question bothers me more than it should. It’s none of her business where I sleep. None of her business what happens in my family, my marriage, my life outside of work.
“The training schedule for this week,” I say, redirecting. “We need to adjust it. Storm isn’t eating well.”
“Oh no, poor thing.” She touches my arm - brief, familiar, like she has the right to touch me whenever she wants. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No.”
Something glints at her throat.
I stop walking. Stare at it.
Gold. A delicate chain, an elegant pendant. Simple but distinctive. It sits against her collarbone, catching the morning light.
My chest tightens.
This is the necklace. The one Delilah described. The one she found in my office. The one she accused me of buying.
I’ve never seen it before. I’ve never bought it. I’ve never-
Aimie notices my gaze and smiles. Her hand moves to touch the pendant, fingers curling around it almost protectively.
“Oh, I know what you’re looking at.”
“What?”
She shifts her shoulders. Leans toward me. And her voice drops to something she probably thinks is sultry, seductive, irresistible.
“Mine are bigger than your wife’s.” A slow smile. “I saw you looking.”
Disgust curdles in my stomach.
“I wasn’t looking at that.”
But she’s already stepping closer. Too close. I can smell her perfume - something heavy and sweet, nothing like Delilah’s clean jasmine, nothing like anything that belongs in my space.
Her hand reaches for my arm. Fingers brush my sleeve, trailing upward.
“You know,” she murmurs, “it must be lonely. With her being so… difficult lately. So suspicious of everything.” Her fingers reach my shoulder. “Some men need someone who appreciates them.”
I grab her wrist.
“What the hell are you doing?”
She doesn’t flinch. If anything, her smile widens. Like this is a game. Like my reaction is exactly what she wanted.
“Come on, Lucas. Don’t pretend you haven’t thought about it. I’ve seen the way you look at me in the arena. The way you watch me ride.”
“I watch you ride because I’m your employer.” I release her wrist like it burns. “Was your employer. You’re fired.”
Her smile falters.
“Fired? You can’t be serious.” The seductive mask cracks, and underneath is something sharper. Hungrier. “What about the training? The Reynolds contract? The next competition is coming up-”
“That’s my problem now. You’ve crossed a line.”
“Oh, please.” Her voice turns sharp. “Don’t act so righteous when you were just staring at my chest.”
“I was looking at your necklace.”
Her hand flies to the pendant. Something shifts in her expression - loss of confidence, maybe. Or fear.
“Oh.” She recovers quickly, the smile sliding back into place, but it doesn’t reach her eyes anymore. “The gold one. Like the kind your wife doesn’t like.”
She laughs. Light and careless and wrong.
The words land like ice water.
“How do you know my wife doesn’t like gold?”
Silence.
The morning air feels suddenly cold. A horse whinnies somewhere behind us, but I don’t look away from her face. I watch the calculation happening behind her eyes - the scramble for an explanation, for a cover story, for some way to make this not what it obviously is.
“Tell me.” I step closer. “Now.”
She shrugs, trying for casual and missing by a mile. “Sometimes you just know things.” A dismissive little laugh. “Or you overhear conversations.”
“What conversations?”
“You and Dario.” She examines her nails like we’re discussing the weather. “Talking about how you wanted to get something for your wife, but she doesn’t like gold. Prefers silver. It’s not exactly classified information.”
The pieces click together.
The necklace on my desk. Placed where Delilah would find it. The timing - right when things were already fragile, right when my wife was already doubting everything. Delilah’s face when she accused me, the betrayal in her eyes, the way she looked at me like I was a stranger.
And Aimie. Hovering at the edges of every argument. Every tension. Every crack in my marriage.
“You bought it yourself.” I say it slowly, watching her face. “And put it in my office. Where my wife would see it.”
Her mask slips. Just for a second.
But I see it - the satisfaction. The malice. The smile she’s been hiding behind helpfulness and hair flips for weeks.
She wanted this. She planned this.
“That’s insane,” she says, but her voice has lost its edge. “Why would I-”
“I never bought that necklace.” I cut her off. “And I would never - never - buy a necklace for anyone who isn’t my wife.”
Her hand clutches the pendant. Protective. Guilty.
“Mr. Montoya, you’re overreacting-”
“Am I?” I don’t let her step back. Don’t let her create distance.
“You moved into my home. You wore my wife’s clothes.
You played with my daughter.” My voice is shaking now - with anger, with disgust, with the weight of everything I’ve let happen.
“And this whole time, you’ve been trying to destroy my marriage. ”
“I was just-”
“Just what? Just waiting for your moment? Just hoping she’d leave so you could slide right into her place?”
Her chin lifts. The mask is fully gone now, and what’s underneath is hard and hungry and nothing like the sweet, helpful woman I thought I hired.
“She doesn’t deserve you.” Aimie’s voice drops to something quiet and vicious. “She’s broken. She can’t ride anymore. She can’t give you what you need - what the business needs. I can. I have been.”
“You’re delusional.”
“Am I?” Her voice rises now, defensive, cracking at the edges. “Who saved the Reynolds deal? Who’s been winning while she sits around feeling sorry for herself? I’ve done more for Montoya Rodeo in two months than she’s done in-”
“Get out.”
“Lucas-”
“Get. Out.” I’m done. I’m so far past done I can’t see it anymore. “Pack your things and be gone by noon. And believe me-” I lean in close, close enough to see the fear finally breaking through her bravado-“you’re going to pay for what you did to my family.”
“You’ll regret this.” Her voice cracks. “When the investors see her limping around, when she can’t perform, when everything falls apart - you’ll wish you’d chosen differently.”
“I already made my choice. Seven years ago. At an altar.” I straighten, putting distance between us. “Now leave before I have security escort you off my property.”
She opens her mouth-
“Mr. Montoya?”
Rosa appears in the stable doorway. Allana’s small hand is in hers. My daughter’s face lights up the moment she sees me.
“Daddy! You’re back!”
I don’t look at Aimie as I walk toward my daughter. I scoop Allana into my arms and hold her tight, burying my face in her hair, breathing in the smell of her shampoo, the realness of her. The solid weight of her against my chest.
Behind me, I hear footsteps retreating. Fast. Angry.
Good.
“Daddy, why did Miss Aimie look so mad?”
I kiss the top of her head. “She’s not going to be staying with us anymore, sweetheart.”
“Oh. Is Mommy coming back now?”
The question hits me like a punch to the chest.
Because Aimie is gone. The truth is out. But Delilah is still in that cottage, still waiting for divorce papers, still convinced that I don’t love her.
And I don’t know if it’s too late to fix that.
“Yeah, baby.” I hold her tighter. “I’m going to go get Mommy right now.”