Page 40 of Dream On, Liar

The feral cats that lived near my grammar school and tolerated me on good days. Matt’s guinea pig, which I was fairly certain despised me personally. But it wasn’t until James, my stepfather, came into the picture that I discovered my love for horses, along with Mum’s sudden lack of concern about my proximity to animals once she realised complaining about it would irritate him. James loved his horses far too much to entertain lectures about fur on her outrageously high priced clothes and furniture.

The first time James took us to his racing yard out in Surrey, all pristine fences and rolling green fields that looked painted into the countryside, something in me latched on instantly. After that, I spent entire weekends there pretending I cared about racing statistics when really I just wanted an excuse to disappear into the stables. Mum had been fully supportive in the way she always was when appearances were involved, eager to parade us around as one big polished family, but I’d happily played along if it meant more time around the horses.

Even when I went to stay with my father, I’d find ways back there. He was usually too busy to notice when I slipped out for hours at times, caught a bus across Surrey, and went searching for one horse in particular.

Duke.

Massive dark thing with a white streak down his face and the temperament of a divorced pub owner.

He only liked three people.

The head groom.

James.

And me.

My throat tightened unexpectedly at the thought.

I hadn’t seen him in months.

Even when after everything with Mum had imploded, James had still be adamant to check-in on me, and gave me permission to visit Duke whenever I’d wanted. But eventually, even the occasional texts stopped, and going there started to feel strange, like I might walk into the stables one day and be told I was no longer welcome.

Staying away felt like the safer choice, as if no contact still left room for whatever silent fracture had formed between me and Mum to be repaired. As if she hadn’t simply woken up one day and decided her new family was enough to make it easier to pretend I’d stopped being part of hers.

Samyra must’ve noticed something shift across my face because she didn’t say anything else. She just exhaled quietly and lowered herself onto the blankets beside me, shoulder pressing against mine as Trip snuggled himself next to her.

For a while neither of us spoke, and the only sound in the room was the soft echo of the rain tapping against the windows.

Someone down the hall sneezed violently enough to make three dogs bark in solidarity, and end whatever silent moment we had.

I cleared my throat, speaking before she had the chance to. “What were you doing near Lord’s?”

I felt her stiffen momentarily before she sighed. “I took your advice.”

I turned my head, curiosity sparking through me. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I spoke to my manager, and she was on board with it, so I texted Ishaan. And he called his br—boss,” she corrected herself quickly, like the word had tripped her up mid-air. “Who wanted a meeting ASAP. And yes, it is a bit weird, but he wanted to see if I could actually deliver what he was looking for, whether the chemistry was there, all of that.”

She exhaled through her nose, still half-laughing at how absurd it sounded even as she said it. “He was in London too, which is unusual, because he’s normally either in France or Delhi. Apparently he had forty-five minutes he could squeeze me into before he met the other two companies tomorrow, so it was now or never. I took my client deck, the one I usually use for pitches, and went straight to L'Orchidée. By the time I was done, it was around the same time you were, which is why I texted.”

My eyes had gone wide as saucers, recognising the Michelin-star restaurant name. “You had a meeting with the boss? Is that even normal?”

She tugged on her lower lip, considering it before nodding. “I know. I’m so used to dealing with actors and celebrities that dealing with a literal billionaire felt… weird.” A beat passed before she added, almost as an afterthought, “When I asked Ishaan, he said it was perfectly normal. Apparently it’s a really close partnership because of the relationship with the driver, so he wanted to be directly involved from the start.”

I frowned. “How do you mean?”

For a moment, Samyra stilled in thought, almost like she was trying to hold back something. I tried to remind myself that not everything had to be interrogated. That even if there was something underneath it, it didn’t automatically belong to me to uncover.

But, to my mind, silence had never stayed neutral for me. It had the tendency to rearrange itself into meaning whether it deserved to or not. Growing up with parents who came and went in fragments, conversations half-finished before something better took priority, explanations softened or withheld, had trained something restless in me. If I didn’t understand every piece, I started wondering which parts I’d been left out of.

So I listened harder than I needed to. Not always because I wanted control, but because I hated the feeling of standing just outside a door that everyone else had the key to.

Samyra let out a small breath, shifting slightly as if she were setting the moment back into place. “The CEO is Dev Patel. And his twin brother, Vedant Patel…is one of the drivers for Montclair. So, this partnership is very personal to them.”

I frowned slightly. “Why do those names sound familiar?”

She didn’t answer straight away. Just watched my face like she was giving my brain to catch up on it’s own.