Chapter 118

Angela POV

Tristan Lawrence approached on his Thoroughbred, his expression a mixture of annoyance and determination. His gaze darted between Sean and me, clearly displeased at seeing me on Sean's horse.

"Just racing is too dull, Shaw," Tristan called out, his voice carrying across the field. "Care to add a wager to make things interesting?"

Sean barely acknowledged him, seemingly preoccupied with my presence in his arms. The warmth of his chest against my back was an unwelcome reminder of our earlier encounter in the changing room.

"Mr. Lawrence," I attempted to speak, desperate to salvage my business opportunity. "About the investment proposal we were discussing-"

"What's the wager?" Sean interrupted coldly, his voice vibrating against my shoulder.

Tristan's eyes gleamed with calculation. "If I win, we race again. And you return Ms. Wilson to me!"

I stiffened. How dare they treat me like a prize to be won? I opened my mouth to protest but found myself silenced by the sudden tension in Sean's body.

"Don't even think about it," Sean's voice dropped dangerously low. "And you won't beat me anyway."

"Are you afraid to accept?" Tristan taunted. "I'm brave enough to issue the challenge. Are you brave enough to accept it?"

I felt Sean's breathing change against my back, recognizing the signs of his temper rising. I'd witnessed it countless times during our marriage-the slight hesitation before the storm.

"Fine," Sean finally responded. "Here's my wager: if I win, you stay away from her. Completely."

Tristan's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Good God, Shaw, that's rather extreme!"

"So, are we betting or not?" Sean asked coldly.

Tristan turned to Jessica, who was perched nervously behind him. "What do you think? We have to beat him!"

Jessica clutched his jacket tightly. "I think safety should be our priority..."

I silently agreed with Jessica's assessment. These men were turning a simple race into something dangerous, all for their egos. And somehow, I'd become the prize in their childish competition.

An official from the club approached, clipboard in hand. "The race will begin shortly, gentlemen."

Tristan tightened his grip on the reins, determination written across his features. The official continued, "As a reminder, the first rider to retrieve the red flag at the summit wins. There's also a special prize from the club waiting for the victor."

As the countdown began-"Ten, nine, eight..."-I attempted to swing my leg over and dismount. Sean's arm instantly tightened around my waist, preventing my escape.

"Seven..." the official called.

Sean's lips brushed against my ear, sending an unwelcome shiver down my spine. "If you're scared, you can turn and hold onto me."

I was formulating a scathing retort when the official shouted, "Go!"

Tristan shot forward immediately, with Jessica releasing a terrified squeal. "Mr. Lawrence, please slow down! Safety first!"

"Safety is nothing," Tristan called back. "Winning is everything!"

To my confusion, Sean remained motionless at the starting line, making no effort to pursue Tristan's rapidly disappearing form. The silence stretched between us until I couldn't bear it any longer.

"What are you doing?" I finally demanded. "Are you trying to lose the race?"

His response came as a low rumble against my back. "What, worried you'll have to go back to Lawrence if I lose?"

I let out a cold laugh. "Why would I worry? It's better for me if you lose. I came here to discuss financing with Mr. Lawrence, after all."

Sean's body went rigid. His voice, when it came, was dangerously quiet. "What did you just say? Say it again."

"If you're so eager to hear it," I challenged, "I can repeat it twice, even ten times."

Before I could continue, Sean spurred the horse forward with such sudden ferocity that I was thrown back against his chest. The Arabian stallion leaped into motion, racing down the track with breathtaking speed.

Despite my outward composure, my body betrayed me. The force of acceleration pushed me firmly against Sean, my hands instinctively gripping his thighs for stability. I hated the weakness, hated how my body remembered his-remembered the security of his embrace even as my mind rejected it.

"Why so quiet now?" Sean taunted, his breath hot against my ear. His arm held me securely, preventing me from falling despite the breakneck pace.

I refused to respond, focusing instead on controlling my racing heart.

"Turn around and face me," Sean suggested, his voice holding an amused challenge.

"How is that even possible?" I snapped, irritation breaking through my resolve.

Sean's chest vibrated with a low chuckle. "I'll make you win," he promised, the words carrying an intensity that went beyond the race.

The Arabian stallion thundered along the designated track, its powerful strides eating up the distance. The cold wind whipped my long hair, occasional strands catching against Sean's neck.

"Why didn't you tie your hair back?" Sean asked, his voice tight with annoyance.

I bit my tongue, remembering exactly why my hair was loose-my hair clip had broken during our encounter in the changing room. Another thing to blame him for.

We rode for nearly twenty minutes without any sign of Tristan and Jessica. As we approached a fork in the trail, my curiosity got the better of me.

"Where are they?" I asked, scanning the landscape.

"There are three routes to the summit," Sean explained. "Two official tracks and one shortcut trail." He pulled the horse to a stop at the junction. "Which way do you want to go?"

"Why would that matter to me?" I replied coldly, though internally I was calculating the fastest route to victory-and to concluding this nightmare of an afternoon.

Sean's voice turned calculating. "Lawrence might take the shortcut to win. If we take it too and encounter them on that narrow path, things could get dangerous."

When I didn't respond, Sean guided the horse toward the smallest trail. It was barely visible, winding up the hillside through dense trees.

"What are you doing?" I asked, alarm evident in my voice.

"Helping you win," Sean stated simply as the horse plunged onto the narrow path.

The shortcut initially seemed wider than I had feared, but as we continued, it narrowed treacherously, twisting sharply between rocks and trees. The horse moved with surprising agility, but several times I felt certain we would tumble off the edge. Each time, Sean's expert control pulled us back from disaster.

My fingers dug into his forearms as we navigated a particularly sharp turn, the horse's hooves sliding slightly on loose gravel. I bit back a scream, hating my weakness, hating that after five years of building independence, one afternoon with Sean had reduced me to this-trembling and dependent on his protection.

By the time the path widened again, I was exhausted from tension, my body slumped against Sean's chest despite my best efforts to maintain distance. The admission of defeat burned like acid in my throat.

Just as Sean had predicted, the shortcut brought us to the summit first. The red flag was still planted at the designated spot, with an elegantly wrapped gift box beside it.

I straightened myself, preparing to dismount and claim the flag. Without warning, Sean's arms tightened around me, pulling me firmly against his chest in an embrace that spoke of desperation more than victory.

In the stillness of the mountain peak, I could hear the powerful rhythm of his heartbeat. Gone was the sarcasm, the coldness, the aggression-replaced by raw emotion as he held me like I might disappear at any moment.

"Five years," he whispered against my hair, his voice as soft as the mountain breeze. "You finally came back." The words hung between us for a moment before dissipating into the wind.