26. CHAPTER 23
Orion
I cleared the weekend before she could find a way to ruin it.
Every meeting, no matter how far off they’d been scheduled, were moved.
All calls reassigned. A board dinner I’d avoided for months was suddenly canceled due to unexpected scheduling conflicts, which really meant I couldn’t imagine sitting through three hours of conversation with men twice my age while my wife was bored and irritated in my house.
Anyone mildly offended that I chose personal commitments over another round of corporate hand-holding was welcome to the sentiment. They’d all live. Ironshore wasn’t going to collapse because I disappeared for forty-eight hours.
If anything was going to destabilize me, it wasn’t a fluctuating market; it was my wife.
A change of environment was no longer a luxury, but a necessity—at least if I wanted her to stop clawing her way out of my presence every chance she got.
When Léonie stepped out of the estate in jeans and a simple blouse, her hair down, her pretty full lips set in that determined curve she wore whenever she intended to argue, I knew then that the drive would be long.
“Are you driving?” she asked, her tone heavy with skepticism.
“I am,” I responded, holding open the door to the matte-black Rolls-Royce Cullinan.
It made sense to drive ourselves. No chauffeur needed. No Stephen. and certainly no convoy, despite Severin arguing for it.
For the next three hours, the world didn't exist. There was only the road, and the woman who refused to make it easy for me.
She sat in the passenger seat with her arms folded, legs crossed, wearing a glare that could stop traffic.
“Are you still refusing to tell me where we’re going?” she asked restlessly after an hour
“Yes.”
She angled her head, one eyebrow arching as her mouth pulled slightly to the side. It was the expression she always wore when she was about to deliver a particularly cutting remark—only this time, she seemed to remember we were trapped in a confined space together.
I watched the tense movement around her lips, waiting for the strike. It never came.
“Do you always do this?” she sighed instead.
“What?”
“Control every second of every situation.”
“Yes.”
She made a noise low in her throat that sounded like a protest then turned to face the window. The corner of my mouth curved again.
If she knew how much I enjoyed that fight in her, she’d weaponise it.
Paris faded and motorways came into view, then more serene roads. The further we drove, the more her posture changed, her stiff annoyance giving way to a reluctant type of curiosity. She watched trees blur past, villages tucked into green fields, and the rise of hills in the distance.
“Are we at least staying on this continent?” she asked after another hour.
“For now.”
She slanted a look at me that clearly communicated just how annoying she found my vagueness.
“Kidnapping is a crime, you know,” she muttered, but there was no real heat in it.
I nearly smiled. “Only if the victim doesn’t enjoy the destination.”
“Still kidnapping.”
“You got in the car voluntarily.”
She scoffed. “Did I have a choice?”
“You had several,” I said. “You chose this one. I’m flattered.”
She turned back to the window, but not before I caught the reluctant hint of a smile.
By the time we crossed the border and the road widened into a private lane flanked by rolling hills, she leaned forward, peering out the windshield.
“What is this place?”
The Kade equestrian estate. My father’s favourite refuge when business abroad required a weekend of peace in the country. This was the first place I was ever put on a horse—long before I was tall enough to reach the stirrups.
“The Kade equestrian estate,” I said. “My family bred racehorses here for seventy years, before we started participating in polo matches.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You play polo?”
“I win polo.”
She shook her head, her lips twitching with a suppressed retort. “Not surprised.” Her gaze remained fixed on the window. “God forbid the great Orion Kade simply participates in something.”
I held back the laugh vibrating in my chest. It was a rare, reckless sound.
“Repeat that sentiment while you’re cheering me on at my next match.”
She side-eyed me, trying to hide the small, vicious smile threatening to form. It was the first time she hadn't looked at me like a price she had to pay.
“So this is our destination?”
“Do you disapprove?”
She hesitated.
“No,” she admitted. “I just… didn’t expect this.”
That's good, at least.
The gates opened as we approached, and the estate came into view.
There weren't any cameras anywhere, no excess security either.
Only the crunch of gravel and the villa ahead of us, its tall shutters thrown open to the late morning breeze.
The climbing roses weren't manicured for optics; they were just alive.
Looking at the horizon, the perimeter didn't feel confining. It was open and expansive.
I cut the engine and got out, then came around to open her door.
“Welcome to the other cage,” she murmured, stepping down.
“For forty-eight hours,” I said, “no one else knows you’re here. Not my mother, or your family, not a single soul, except us. If this feels like a cage, that’s on you.”
She gave me a look that gleamed with uncertainty, her bravado faltering for the first time. Her expression settling for fine.
Luc was already waiting at the entrance, his silver hair whipped by the wind. He’d known me since I was a boy on a too-tall horse, and he was likely the only man alive who still saw me as one.
When Severin and I used to come here with my father, Luc was the one who taught us the things Henrik wouldn’t: how to mount without stirrups, ride bareback along the lower ridge, jump the training fences when no one was watching, let the horses run without checking them every other second.
My father was methodical, precise, and obsessed with control.
Luc cared more about instinct and trust, and whether you could feel the animal beneath you and stay with it.
A younger woman in her mid thirties stood beside him—Gladys. She was a recent addition to the stables, one of the newer staff I’d personally vetted to ensure this place remained the sanctuary it was meant to be.
“Welcome back, Monsieur Kade,” Luc said. “Madame.”
He said it with a certainty that implied the title was meant for her. The sensation that stirred inside of me left little room for doubt.
Léonie nodded in response, and I watched her forget the prison sentence she liked to hold over my head.
The wind pulled her hair across her face as she took in the calmness, her eyes tracing the open fields. For the first time since the wedding, she looked truly at ease in my presence. Her gentleness resurfacing. Vulnerable in a way that made my breath go uneven, perilously close to affection.
The moment was broken by the muffled neighs of the horses drifting from the stables, pulling her attention and mine back to the reason we were here.
“This is Gladys,” I said to Léonie. “She’ll take you to change.”
“Change?”
“For riding,” I replied. “You didn’t think I brought you to a ranch to admire the fences.”
Her brows arched. “You didn’t tell me we were coming to a ranch. I would’ve packed something appropriate.”
I looked at Gladys, silently commanding her to intervene before my wife finds another reason to argue. Gladys stepped forward, her expression warm and entirely unruffled.
Léonie opened her mouth to argue, likely something about my penchant for over-preparation or my need to control everything, but Gladys didn’t give her the chance. She simply gestured toward the villa’s side entrance with a welcoming smile.
“This way, Madame,” Gladys said. “We’ve prepared a selection of riding clothes tailored to your measurements and preferences. I believe you’ll approve.”
Léonie shot me one last look—half-exasperated, half-intrigued—before she turned to follow. I watched her go, already imagining the moment she'd come back to me.
They disappeared into the villa, then I turned toward the side wing to get ready.
When I saw her again, I momentarily forgot how to breathe.
She walked out of the side entrance toward the stables like some perfect, maddening version of a fantasy I’d never allowed myself.
Fitted tan jodhpurs hugged the length of her legs, disappearing neatly into knee-high black riding boots. A white shirt, sleeves rolled to her forearms, was tucked into the waistband; over it, a cropped, navy riding jacket cinched at her waist.
The riding leathers fit her like it was made just for her, but it was the high ponytail that caught me off guard. The way it bared her neck, the faint pulse I could see from where I stood. She looked less like a captive and more like a fucking challenge.
I’d only seen her wear her hair in a high ponytail on grainy surveillance feeds, but the reality, the rhythmic bounce of it as she walked, the way it framed the delicate sculpted features of her face, was so much better in person. It was a detail I hadn't realized I was hungry for.
I took my time looking at her. I didn’t rush it, didn’t try to hide it.
You should stop staring,” she said, her voice cutting through the thoughts already peeling those leathers off her in my head.
“You’re very observant today.”
She batted her lashes, momentarily thrown off by the fact that I hadn’t risen to the bait. A faint, annoyed inhale followed. She’d clearly been gearing up for a fight I had no intention of giving her. Then her gaze slipped over me again before she caught herself.
“You look—” she started, but trailed off, her eyes traveling over me with a hint of interest she couldn't quite hide. She gestured at me vaguely, as if the words for the transformation had escaped her.