Revan rejected the call with a cold flick of his thumb.
The screen went black.
Yet the heavy scent of Victoria’s tuberose perfume and the venom of the outside world seemed to seep straight through the clinic walls, shattering the fragile warmth that had bloomed between his breath and Alesya’s lips.
Alesya had already backed away two steps.
She stood tall, smoothing down her canvas shirt, slipping her cold, professional mask right back into place as if the touch of her fingers against Revan’s bare chest moments ago had been nothing more than a routine physiotherapy procedure.
“We’re finished,” Alesya said, her voice stiff, her eyes stubbornly refusing to meet his.
“Ice your shoulder for twenty minutes before the afternoon session.”
She walked out of the clinic without looking back.
And Revan despised the fact that the air around him instantly felt hollow and freezing the moment she left.
Four in the afternoon.
The Wellington sun began its slow descent into the west, casting a blazing golden-orange glow that caught the swirling dust of the outdoor grand arena.
Yet the afternoon air wasn’t merely hot from the sun.
It was toxic, poisoned by the presence of six guests in expensive linen suits and designer summer dresses seated under the white canopy of the VIP pavilion along the rail.
Gerald Ashworth had sent the sponsor audit team, accompanied by two photographers from *Equestrian Life* magazine.
And Victoria stood right in the center of them like a queen flaunting her dominion.
“Revan just needed a few minor technical adjustments,” Victoria’s voice warbled melodiously from behind her pearl-rimmed sunglasses as she spoke to the lead sponsor representative.
“Our wedding next month will serve as the global relaunch for the Caldwell Equestrian brand.”
Revan stood beside Phantom at the arena gate.
He wore immaculate white riding breeches, polished black knee-high leather boots, and a black competition shirt without a tie, leaving the solid contours of his chest subtly defined.
On his left shoulder sat strips of black kinesiology tape… applied directly by Alesya’s fingers just thirty minutes ago with a precision that still burned against his skin.
Across the arena, standing right by the wooden railing, was Alesya.
Victoria had deliberately excluded her from the VIP area.
Dressed in a plain black cotton shirt and dark brown jodhpurs with her hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, Alesya held only her medical binder and a stopwatch.
Victoria had treated her like a low-level servant since the entourage arrived: failing to introduce her to the sponsors, ordering her to fetch chilled mineral water, and referring to her as “a temporary medical assistant from out of town.”
Alesya hadn’t retaliated with words.
She simply stood straight beside the rail, her chin held high, her honey-brown eyes fixed on Revan with a quiet poise that stripped away every layer of pretense from the wealthy crowd around them.
And watching Alesya being treated like help by the woman he was supposed to marry triggered a primal fury in Revan’s blood one far more dangerous than the ache in his shoulder.
Revan pulled on his black velvet riding helmet, snapping the chin strap shut with a sharp tug, before resting his left hand on the pommel of Phantom’s custom Hermès saddle.
He swung up into the seat.
His powerful frame settled seamlessly over the back of the half-ton black stallion.
Phantom let out a soft snort, tossing his dark, sun-gleaming mane.
The horse could feel the electricity in the air.
His ears flicked toward the whispering VIP crowd, then pivoted toward Alesya standing alone at the rail.
Revan gathered the reins in his bare left hand.
He had refused to wear his expensive leather gloves today.
He wanted to feel what Alesya had taught him: *skin to skin, breath to breath, trust without walls.*
Revan guided Phantom into the center of the footing.
The photographers in the VIP bleachers immediately trained their long lenses on him, waiting for the moment of redemption… or another catastrophic fall… of The Dark Rider.
In the middle of the ring stood a single gold-and-white vertical jump.
Set at 1.10 meters.
To a Grand Prix champion, that height was a joke.
But to Revan and Phantom… a horse and rider who hadn’t cleared a single rail since the fatal tragedy eight months ago in Aachen… that 1.10-meter fence loomed like a three-hundred-foot cliff.
“Revan, darling!” Victoria called out sweetly from under the canopy.
“Show Mr.
Sterling that his investment hasn’t gone to waste!”
Revan tuned out her voice completely.
He didn’t look at Victoria.
He didn’t look at the camera lenses pointed his way.
Revan’s gray eyes swept the arena, searching for the one anchor in the world that could keep him grounded.
And he found her.
Alesya stood at the rail, perfectly aligned with the jump’s landing zone.
Her eyes locked onto his.
There was no doubt in her honey-brown gaze.
No sponsor demands.
No fifty-million-dollar deal.
There was only pure, unadulterated belief flowing from her across the sunbaked air, wrapping around Revan’s heart and smothering his fear.
Alesya gave him a single, subtle nod.
*Jump.*
The silent command hit Revan like a physical force.
Revan drew a deep breath, loosening his taped left shoulder, and pressed his heels gently into Phantom’s flanks.
“Let’s go, boy,” Revan murmured low.
Phantom surged forward.
The transition from a walk to a trot exploded seamlessly into a powerful, rhythmic canter.
Sand kicked up behind his iron shoes.
The black stallion’s stride thundered against the arena floor like a war drum.
*Thump.
Thump.
Thump.*
The afternoon breeze rushed past Revan’s face, carrying the scent of horse sweat, kicked-up dust, and the lingering trace of lavender from Alesya’s fingers still embedded in the leather reins.
The 1.10-meter fence rushed toward them.
Twenty meters.
Ten meters.
Five meters.
Suddenly, the ghosts of Aachen tried to claw their way back into his mind.
The memory of splintering wood.
The cold bite of the illegal sedative his father had forced into the horse’s bloodstream.
Revan’s left shoulder instinctively locked up, his fingers nearly hauling back on the reins to abort the approach.
*“Don’t look at the jump, Revan.
Look at the open space beyond it.”*
Alesya’s husky whisper echoed in his head.
Revan fixed his gaze past the white rails.
He looked straight at Alesya waiting on the other side.
Revan surrendered his iron grip.
He gave two centimeters of rein, lowered his seat into the saddle, and placed his entire life into the hands of the animal beneath him.
Three strides out.
Phantom coiled the immense power in his steel-muscled hindquarters.
The stallion’s back rippled beneath Revan’s saddle.
And then…
*TAWK.*
Phantom launched off the dirt with explosive, terrifying force.
The massive black silhouette soared into the air.
Flight.
Gravity seemed to lose its grip over the Blackstone Estate arena.
Revan folded his body forward, his shoulder melting into Phantom’s mane, his bare hands yielding softly to follow the perfect arch of his horse’s neck above the 1.10-meter rail.
Below them, the gold-and-white bar didn’t tremble by a single millimeter.
They hung suspended between the copper sky and golden sand for one eternal second.
THUD.
Phantom’s forelegs struck the dirt cleanly on the other side.
His hind legs followed, absorbing the impact with flawless biomechanical grace.
Clean.
Perfect.
No refusal.
No pain.
Phantom carried his canter for another ten meters, letting out a long, proud snort into the warm air before settling into a calm, relaxed walk.
A deafening silence swallowed the entire arena.
The magazine photographers lowered their cameras, their jaws slack.
The Ashworth sponsor representative pushed out of his VIP chair, clapping slowly before the rest of the entourage broke into thunderous applause.
Victoria beamed, waving her hand with the triumphant grin of a socialite claiming credit for a masterpiece she hadn’t built.
Yet Revan heard none of it.
The blood in his veins burned with pure, unadulterated adrenaline, setting every nerve ending ablaze.
His heart hammered like a wild storm; his chest heaved with heavy, hot gasps.
Eight months of living in hell.
Eight months of brokenness.
And in three seconds in the air, she had given him back his wings.
Revan pulled the reins, spinning Phantom around, and dismounted in one fluid, powerful movement.
Both boots hit the dirt.
He didn’t turn toward the VIP pavilion.
He paid no mind to Victoria, who was already stepping down from the canopy stairs, calling his name.
Revan tossed Phantom’s reins to Marcus, who had come running up.
And with long, rapid, animalistic strides, Revan cut across the sand straight toward the only person in his head.
Alesya was still standing at the wooden rail.
Her binder had slipped to her side.
Her honey-brown eyes shimmered with tears of overwhelming relief and pride, and the most beautiful smile Revan had ever seen bloomed across her lips.
“Revan, you jumped….”
Alesya didn’t get to finish her sentence.
Revan breached her personal space like a summer storm.
His right hand slammed against the wooden rail right beside her head, while his left clamped onto the post by her hip.
He trapped her completely between the wooden fence and his towering, heat-radiating body.
Alesya gasped, her back pressing against the rail behind her.
The air hitched in her throat.
The distance between them vanished down to mere millimeters.
His heat a heady mix of victorious sweat, burning adrenaline, and raw, masculine scent overwhelmed her senses instantly.
Revan’s broad chest heaved wildly, pressing against the thin fabric of her shirt with every ragged breath he drew.
His gray eyes burned dark and feral, consumed by a primal hunger no human law could ever tame.
“Revan…” Alesya rasped, her pupils dilating as she stared at his lips, mere hairbreadths from her own.
“Did you see it?” Revan’s voice was rough and heavy, vibrating with an emotion so intense it bordered on pain.
His hot breath scorched the skin of her lips.
“I saw it,” Alesya whispered, a tear of pure joy finally spilling down her cheek.
“You flew, Revan.
Both of you flew.”
Revan’s gaze tracked the tear rolling down her cheek.
Then it dropped to her lush, trembling lips.
In the distance, the click of Victoria’s high heels and the calls of the photographers echoed closer to the rail.
The real world was coming to stake its cl
aim.
But Revan Caldwell couldn’t care less.
He dipped his head an inch lower, trapping her gaze with an unyielding, dangerous promise.
“I didn’t fly because of my horse, Alesya…” Revan whispered against her lips.
“…I flew because you were standing right here.”