Chapter 2

The next morning, I went to the high-end equestrian club that was in my name.

It was the business the original Bianca had poured two years of her life into.

From the site permits to the first round of top-tier members, she had spent almost half her life on this place.

I sat in the office going over the books, my finger tracing a scratch along the edge of the desk without thinking.

She'd made it herself the first day she moved in, banging the desk together, tightening the screws by hand.

She'd been so happy then. She'd thought she finally had something to prove she deserved him.

The door opened.

Jasmine Swanson walked in wearing a custom riding outfit, Reuben Simmons's chief executive assistant trailing behind her.

"Miss Whitfield, the light in here doesn't seem very good, does it."

She looked around the room, her tone picking at everything.

"Reuben said now that I'm back, I need somewhere to pass the time. I think this club would suit me nicely."

She was smiling, but her eyes were like needles dipped in poison.

"The décor is too dated, though. And those horses in the stable, none of them have clean enough bloodlines. Have someone swap them all out tomorrow."

For the first time, my hand stopped on the books.

At the very back of the stable lived an old horse named Toffee, lame in one leg, no good for the track. The original Bianca had bought him back from a slaughterhouse two years ago.

She'd brushed his coat for an entire winter.

The assistant stood off to the side, looking awkward.

Another memory surfaced: to lock down the site permits, the original Bianca had drunk with a client until her stomach bled. Lying in the hospital past midnight on an IV drip, all Reuben Simmons had said over the phone, in that cold voice, was, "If you can't handle it, don't do it. It's not like I can't afford to keep you."

Killing herself to prove she was worthy of him. Looking at it now, it was simply a joke.

I stood, took the company seal and the change-of-ownership paperwork out of the drawer, and pushed them across to Jasmine Swanson.

"I've marked everywhere that needs a signature. Your assistant's efficient, so you can finish the whole process this afternoon."

Jasmine Swanson froze. She clearly hadn't expected me to give in this easily, and the whole belly of insults she'd prepared landed on cotton.

"You…" She eyed me with suspicion. "You're really willing to let it go?"

Of course I wasn't willing.

Every bone in this body was screaming that it couldn't bear it.

It wanted to lunge across the desk and snatch that seal back, the way the original Bianca had snatched him back every single time.

I pressed down the trembling in my fingertips, smiled, and handed over the spare key too.

"Since Mr. Simmons has spoken, of course I'll oblige. Just one condition. That lame old horse at the back of the stable, I'm taking him."

"You want a useless horse too?" She laughed.

"He's no use," I said. "But he knows me."

Just then the phone on the desk rang. It was Reuben Simmons. I put it on speaker.

"Bianca, Jasmine went to the club, right?"

There was a matter-of-course favoritism in his voice.

"She just got back, she needs something to do. Think of the club as somewhere for her to get her hands dirty. Don't hold it against her."

He paused, then added another line.

"I just had my assistant order the newest McLaren, put straight in your name. Consider it compensation."

Jasmine Swanson's face turned ugly in an instant.

Watching her stiff expression, I said softly, "All right. Thank you, Mr. Simmons."

I hung up, picked up my bag, and headed for the door. I paused as I passed Jasmine Swanson.

"Miss Swanson, I hope the business runs smoothly for you. The members here have bad tempers. You'll have to bear with them."

The elevator doors slid shut, and I looked up at myself in the mirror. My eyes were red.

"Ding. Limited-edition supercar cash value estimated at fifteen million. Current progress, thirty-five percent."

The club was a money pit. Trading an empty shell for a limited-edition supercar was a deal that couldn't lose.

I had the numbers figured cleanly. But this body didn't accept the accounting.

All it knew was that I had just sold off her life.

I pressed the button for the lower level. I was going straight down to pick up the car.