How will she see me now? The sister who escaped, only to be recaptured and displayed like a trophy on Gage Blackwood's arm? Will she recognize my captivity beneath the facade of compliance? Would she help if she did?
I prepare for bed mechanically.
Sleep eludes me, as it often does now. I stare at the ceiling.
Morning brings a change in routine. Instead of Marta with breakfast, Gage himself knocks at precisely eight o'clock.
"Get dressed for riding," he says without preamble. "Casual, practical clothing. We leave in twenty minutes."
The unexpected directive momentarily disrupts my performance. "Riding?"
"Horses," he clarifies, as if I might have misunderstood. "I have business at the southern property this morning. You'll accompany me."
Not a request—never that. I nod, maintaining the appearance of compliance while mentally calculating the significance of this small extension of my boundaries.
Twenty minutes later, I meet him at the stables—a facility I'd observed from a distance but never visited. Eight immaculate stalls house magnificent animals, tended by staffwho clearly know their business. Gage stands with a tall black Thoroughbred, speaking quietly to the head groom.
"This is Athena," he says as I approach, gesturing to a chestnut mare being prepared nearby. "She's experienced but responsive. You've ridden before?"
"Yes." I stroke the mare's neck, appreciating her quiet intelligence. "English and Western, though it's been several years."
He nods, apparently satisfied with this information. "We'll take the southern trail. The property extends approximately four miles in that direction, ending at the river boundary. The business matter shouldn't take long."
I mount with practiced ease—another skill from my former life as an Everett, where equestrian abilities were considered essential for proper society daughters. The familiar movements come back quickly, my body remembering what my mind had filed away as irrelevant.
We ride in silence through the maintained grounds that give way to more natural landscape—old-growth forest interspersed with meadows, a stream cutting through occasionally. Despite the circumstances, I find myself enjoying the physical freedom, the rhythmic movement, the fresh air after weeks of indoor confinement.
Gage rides slightly ahead, his posture perfect, his control of the powerful Thoroughbred seemingly effortless.
"You ride well," he observes, glancing back as we navigate a narrow trail. "Your father mentioned you competed as a teenager."
"Hunter-jumper circuit, until I was seventeen." I guide Athena around a fallen branch. "Another society daughter requirement, like French and piano."
"You were ranked regionally," he continues, revealing yet again the depth of his research into my past. "Qualified for national competition before abruptly withdrawing."
The memory surfaces unexpectedly—my father's rage when I'd announced my intention to attend art school rather than the business program he'd selected, his punishment being withdrawal from the equestrian competitions that had provided my only genuine joy.
"My father had different priorities for my education," I say simply.
Gage nods, accepting the explanation without pressing further. We continue riding for nearly an hour, cresting a hill to reveal a stunning view of the river valley below, morning mist still clinging to distant bluffs.
"The southern boundary," Gage indicates with a gesture that encompasses the panoramic vista. "Blackwood land ends at the river."
We dismount near a small cabin overlooking the valley. Unlike the rustic retreat where he took me after my escape attempt, this structure is clearly functional rather than residential—solar panels on the roof, satellite equipment, reinforced doors with electronic locks.
"Wait here," Gage says, securing our horses to a hitching post. "This won't take long."
He enters the cabin using both key card and biometric scan, leaving me alone in the clearing. I consider the moment—the first time I've been without direct supervision since my capture. The temptation to run flashes briefly. Running where? Four miles of Blackwood land between me and the nearest boundary, unfamiliar terrain, no resources, no plan. Another impulsive escape would end exactly as the first did, with recapture and increased restrictions.
Gage emerges fifteen minutes later, tucking a small electronic device into his jacket pocket. "Equipment check complete," he says, offering no further explanation as he unties the horses. "We'll take the eastern trail back—different terrain, but equally scenic."
The return journey follows a path along the river before cutting back through denser forest toward the main estate. As we ride, Gage points out natural features, historical markers, boundaries of the property.
"You know this land intimately," I observe during a brief rest beside a small waterfall. "Did you grow up here?"
"No," he says finally. "I acquired the estate after my father's death. My childhood home was... less expansive."
"Where did you grow up?"
