Marla’s POV

I went home, pretending like I wasn’t up to anything. The moment I arrived at our mansion, I was caught off guard. Waiting for me was my fiancé.

Jason. The man who would soon be my husband. The same man who was a cunning, unapologetic devil in disguise.

"Marla," he said, his voice low and sharp, slicing through the silence. "Where have you been? You’ve been avoiding me."

His gaze pinned me in place like a predator sizing up its prey. Before I could respond, he closed the distance between us, pulling me into a possessive embrace. His arms locked around me like chains, and he buried his face in the curve of my neck. His breath lingered against my skin, deliberate and invasive, as though claiming me as his own.

I stiffened, a knot forming in my throat. Forcing myself to play along, I returned his embrace. My mind screamed at me to push him away, but I couldn’t.

When he finally released me, his dark eyes bore into mine. I painted a bright smile on my face, masking the rage I was feeling inside.

"I just went to the mall," I said lightly. "Looking at jewelry for the wedding."

I hoped for a flicker of guilt, a sign that he might confess. But Jason was unreadable, his expression calm and calculated.

"You didn’t need to bother," he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I’ve already arranged everything. The finest jewelry money can buy, handpicked for you. I don’t leave things to chance, Marla. You should know that by now."

His arrogance was suffocating, yet undeniably commanding. He didn’t ask for gratitude—he demanded it, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Before I could respond, he seized my hand, his grip firm. "Come," he said, leading me toward the door. "We’re going to the farm. I have something to show you."

"Jason, I—"

"Don’t argue," he cut me off, his voice smooth but dangerous. "You’ll want to see this."

Reluctantly, I followed.

The drive was quiet, his presence heavy and impossible to ignore. When we arrived at the farm, the sight was almost overwhelming. Horses stood dressed in perfect gear, showing just how much Jason controlled every detail.

He strode ahead, his movements purposeful, and stopped near a stall. "Marla," he said, gesturing toward a chestnut-colored horse, "meet Chestnut. I bought him for you."

His tone carried no warmth, only a smug satisfaction that made my stomach churn. Jason wasn’t giving me a gift; he was reminding me of his power, his ability to control every aspect of my life.

Before I could respond, someone called out to him.

"Jason, is that you?"

We turned to see Dave and a few others approaching. Jason’s demeanor shifted.

"I didn’t see you there."

Their conversation turned to business, the details as ruthless as the man himself—profits, leverage, control. I barely listened, my attention drifting to Chestnut.

I leaned closer to the horse, whispering under my breath, "I want to kill that man."

My voice was low, but the venom in it was unmistakable. I watched Jason from afar, his commanding presence dominating the group, every word calculated to assert his dominance.

And then she arrived.

"Jason!"

Shane’s voice cut through the air, her approach a deliberate performance. Her laughter was too loud, her smile too bright, and the way she touched Jason made my blood boil.

Jason turned back to me with that maddening, yet, composed authoritative looks of him.

"Marla," he said, his tone edged with authority, "give me Chestnut."

I froze. "What? Why?"

"I need him for today’s race."

I glanced at Chestnut. The horse looked weak, exhausted. He didn’t have the strength for a race.

"Jason, he’s not—"

"I didn’t ask for your opinion," he said coldly, cutting me off. Without waiting for my consent, he took the reins and walked toward Shane.

"Watch me race," he said to her, his smile predatory.

Shane, of course, was all too eager. She laughed, leaning into him as though I didn’t exist.

I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white. Jason’s disregard for me was undeniable. But as anger burned in my chest, I promised myself that one day, I’d find a way to escape him.

Marla’s POV

There was nothing I could do when Jason decided to take Chestnut and get ready for the race. I crossed my arms, watching him with a sinking feeling in my chest. I knew this was all for show. Shane, his mistress, was here, and he was putting on a performance. They thought I didn’t know about them, but I knew everything.

When the signal went off, the race began, and the horses bolted forward. Jason rode Chestnut with his usual confidence, while Shane stood beside me, clapping and yelling like a cheerleader.

"Go, Jason! Go, Chestnut!" she shouted, her voice grating on my nerves.

The way Shane cheered for Jason felt too comfortable, too practiced. It was clear she’d been in this position before, rooting for him like she belonged by his side.

Suddenly, gasps erupted from the crowd. My heart dropped as I focused back on the race. Chestnut was struggling. His pace slowed, his legs faltered, and then he stumbled, throwing Jason off to the ground.

“Oh my gosh!” Shane screamed, rushing toward Jason without a moment’s hesitation.

I stayed where I was, watching the scene unfold. Deep down, I thought he deserved it.

Minutes later, Shane returned, clinging to Jason like a lifeline, her arm wrapped around his waist. Jason’s face remained stoic, his presence commanding despite what had just happened. He walked with deliberate steps, ignoring the medical team tending to Chestnut as if it didn’t matter.

“This is your fault!” Shane snapped suddenly, spinning toward me and pointing a finger.

“You’re the one taking care of the horse, aren’t you? No wonder this happened—you’re neglecting him!”

Her voice was sharp, but her accusation didn’t faze me. I raised my hands, not out of guilt but frustration.

“What are you talking about?” I said sharply. “That horse was handed to me today.”

Before I could say more, Jason’s cold, firm voice cut through.

“Enough.”

I froze. His gaze shifted to Shane, silencing her immediately. His tone didn’t rise, but the authority in it was undeniable.

He leaned closer to Shane, speaking in low tones I couldn’t hear, and she nodded, still looking upset. Jason then turned to me briefly, his eyes narrowing as if daring me to say another word. I didn’t.

Minutes later, Chestnut was back on the field, looking far too weak to be running again.

“Chestnut, go!” Shane yelled, bouncing with excitement.

Jason’s attention was fully on the horse now, his posture relaxed but deliberate. He didn’t rush. Instead, he stood still, waiting for the animal to approach him, and it did, obediently.

I noticed the way Jason interacted with Chestnut. His movements were precise, almost calculated. It wasn’t kindness—it was control. Even the horse seemed to understand who held the power here.

Shane, hovering beside him, asked softly, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Jason gave her a glance, but he smiled at her, a genuine smile I never received from him, “I’m fine.”

She brushed her hand against his arm, her touch lingering. Jason allowed it for a moment before running his fingers through her hair, as if he owned her. Their gazes locked, and the connection between them was obvious.

Watching them, my chest tightened with anger.

The race organizers announced a break, and people began to wander around. I thought about sitting next to Jason, but Shane beat me to it, slipping into the seat beside him like it was her rightful place.

“Is it okay if I sit here?” she asked sweetly, though she didn’t wait for an answer.

I stayed quiet, biting back the urge to lash out. Let her act like she was winning. I knew better than to challenge Jason openly in public.

As soon as Shane sat down, she grabbed Jason’s hand without hesitation, intertwining her fingers with his. What angered me even more is that he didn’t pull away. He let her.

The whispers from the crowd reached my ears, sharp and cruel.

“Isn’t Jason engaged to Marla? Why does it look like there’s something between him and Shane?” someone murmured.

“Why isn’t Marla saying anything? Doesn’t she care?” another voice added.

I swallowed the shame building inside me. Their judgment felt like a weight pressing down on me.

The speakers boomed, cutting through the murmurs.

“Everyone, we have an announcement! There’s going to be another racing competition. Riders, get ready and prepare your horses!”

The energy picked up again as people gathered in excitement. Shane turned to Jason, her voice dripping with smugness.

“I placed a $50,000 bet to support Marla’s horse!” she said, loud enough for me to hear.

Her tone made my blood boil, and her smirk was infuriating when she glanced at me.

“Thanks,” I said flatly, refusing to give her the reaction she wanted.

Inside, I was agitated. Let her brag. Let her think she had the upper hand.

It wouldn’t last forever.

Marla’s POV

Suddenly, an announcement echoed through the air: "The second race will now begin!"

Without hesitation, Jason stood up, his presence commanding as ever. Shane clapped enthusiastically beside him, her excitement almost nauseating.

Jason mounted Chestnut with a single, fluid motion. His authority was unshakable, and despite my irritation, I couldn’t deny that he looked completely in control.

“Go, Jason!” Shane cheered loudly, as if she were his personal cheerleader.

Chestnut started strong, taking an early lead. But halfway through the race, it became obvious something was wrong. The horse looked tired, its pace slowing. Jason’s expression turned cold, his frustration visible even from a distance. Despite his efforts, Chestnut only managed to finish in third place.

As Jason dismounted, Shane spun toward me, her eyes blazing.

"You’re not taking proper care of your horse! Chestnut always looks exhausted! You’re such a lazy owner!"

With Jason not nearby, I refused to back down. Raising an eyebrow, I gave Shane a look that could cut glass.

"You don’t know a damn thing," I snapped. "So shut your mouth before I make you regret it."

Shane blinked, stunned by my boldness, but she quickly recovered, her face twisting with anger. Before either of us could escalate further, Jason appeared, his sharp gaze immediately silencing the tension.

"What the hell is going on here? Are you two fighting?" His voice was calm, but the dominance in it was unmistakable.

I clenched my fists, shooting Shane one last glare before turning to face Jason. But before I could speak, Shane jumped in, her tone sharp.

"You’re only in third place, Jason, and I just spent $50,000 betting on you!"

I rolled my eyes, biting my tongue to keep from saying something I’d regret.

Jason didn’t flinch. Instead, he shrugged, his tone cold and decisive. "Then I’ll buy the horse that came in first place. Problem solved."

His words weren’t directed at Shane—they were aimed at me. His icy blue eyes locked on mine, as if he wanted to offer some twisted version of reassurance.

But I wasn’t having it. "I’ll check on Chestnut," I said flatly, turning on my heel before either of them could say another word.

I made my way to the horse farm, my anger simmering beneath the surface. Chestnut stood in his stall, looking utterly drained. I grabbed some feed and gently placed it in front of him, feeling a pang of guilt for the way he was being used.

As I fed him, I heard footsteps behind me.

"Are you Jason’s fiancée?" a woman’s voice asked.

I turned around, recognizing her as the farm’s administrator.

"Yes. Why?"

She hesitated, then gave a small smile, as if what she was about to say wasn’t important.

"Oh, nothing. It’s just… Chestnut was sold. Jason arranged it earlier today."

I froze, the words hitting me like a punch.

"W-What?"

She shrugged, as though it was just business. "The horse that won first place? That’s going to replace Chestnut. Jason made the deal right after the race."

I stared at her, unable to process what I’d just heard.

"Jason loved that horse," she added thoughtfully. "But, well… I guess he loves winning more."

"Where is he now?" I asked, my voice low but steady.

"In the VIP lounge, I think. He’s with someone—"

I didn’t wait for her to finish. The anger inside me had reached its boiling point. I stormed off toward the VIP lounge, each step fueled by frustration and disbelief.

When I reached the door, I noticed it was slightly open.

"Jason!" I called out, but my voice faltered as I heard something inside.

I froze.

"Oh, Jason!" Shane’s voice rang out, breathless and filled with desire.

"Oh, fuck, Shane. You’re so fucking delicious." Jason’s voice was low, guttural, and unmistakable.

My heart stopped. I stepped back, the reality of what was happening crashing down on me. The sounds—the slap of skin, the wet noises, the moans—left no room for doubt.

I stood there, paralyzed, unable to believe what I was hearing. Every part of me screamed to turn away, to leave, but I couldn’t move.

My world shattered in that moment, and all I could do was stand there, drowning in the betrayal.