It was a silent clash of the fierce as Bernard and Isaac locked eyes, their gazes brimming with dangerous intensity.
Both minds screamed the same question: 'Who the hell is he?'
Bernard's jaw clenched.
'Another one sniffing around her? Typical. They always think they're different—like she'll fall for charm and swagger. But I have seen this Belle, she's not that easy. This few days have already proven that she's not that easy going. And I like that. And I'm not stepping aside.' He didn't blink. Not once.
'Let him look. Let him measure. He won't like what he finds.'
Isaac's fingers twitched at his side.
'Who the hell is this guy? He's got that smug, territorial air. Like he owns the room. Like he owns her. But she's mine. And I don't plan to let him take control and claim what's mine.'
He tilted his head slightly, a quiet challenge.
'If he wants a war, he'll get one. But I won't be the one who throws the first punch. Not yet.'
Patricia could feel the tension vibrating in the air like a ticking time bomb, seconds from detonation.
She knew she had to disarm it—otherwise, all hell would break loose.
'This is ridiculous. They're staring each other down like stallions in a standoff, and I'm the prize they think they're fighting over. I swear, if one of them starts pawing the ground, I'm walking away.'
She took a slow breath, trying to steady herself.
Her gaze flicked between the men.
'I need to shut this down before it turns into a full-blown testosterone parade. I didn't sign up to be the center of a turf war—I signed up to race. And if they think I'm going to stand here and let them puff their chests like roosters in a barnyard, they've got another thing coming.'
She stepped forward, calm but firm.
She began approaching Isaac slowly, hoping to calm the storm. But just as she was about to reach him...
"Ms. Milton, are you ready?"
All heads turned toward the voice. Carlos was approaching.
Carlos was also a handsome hunk not like Bernard or Isaac but he was also good-looking enough to turn heads of the ladies.
Patricia felt the air thicken, the atmosphere growing even more suffocating.
She could feel exactly where the tension was coming from.
Isaac's gaze flicked between the two men, his eyes narrowing with disdain.
To Patricia, they were just trainers.
To Isaac, they were intruders—especially the blonde. He didn't like what he saw.
He'd overheard Patricia arguing with someone and had rushed over, ready to intervene.
But what he saw made his blood boil:
That bastard had his Sweeches in an intimate grip.
Patricia was clearly trying to pull away, but the guy had the audacity to keep holding her—and even leaned in like he was going to kiss her.
The nerve of the scumbag.
Well, now that Isaac was here, he was going to set the record straight.
And keep the bastard in check.
Correction: bastards. Because now there were two.
Carlos, sensing the tension, hesitated.
Had he walked in at the wrong time?
Patricia's head spun.
She was trapped in a silent limbo battle of testosterone whiffs and territorial stares.
If only Carlos hadn't shown up and made things worse—she might've already smoothed things out.
Carlos shifted awkwardly, sensing the tension thick in the air.
"Uh… is everything okay?" he asked, his voice tentative.
Patricia took a deep breath. "Yes! Yes, Carlos. Everything's fine."
She stepped beside Isaac, her presence calm but deliberate.
"This is Isaac," she said, gesturing toward him. "He's the horses' trainer—the one who keeps them fit and ready for the races."
Bernard scoffed, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Some trainer you are. What kind of professional abandons his post for days on end? Derby horses need daily conditioning—no slacking. Ms. Milton, you might want to consider hiring someone more… committed. This one's a bit of a slacker."
He said it with a smirk, but his eyes betrayed something sharper. Him. Bernard Crisby—the White Knight of the horse derby—wasn't about to lose ground to a mere stablehand. Not when the stakes involved this exceptional beauty.
'A stablehand. That's all he is. A man who brushes manes and shovels hay. And yet here he stands—side by side with her like he belongs. Like he's earned it.'
Bernard's jaw tightened.
'I am a champion. I've stood in the winner's circle. I've had women throw themselves at me for less. But her? She doesn't flinch. Doesn't chase. She challenges. She's like an alluring flame, serene but hot. Hot enough to burn you whole. And I like it.'
His gaze flicked to Isaac.
'And now this guy thinks he can win. Thinks he can claim her. I doubt he has ever seen her on the track. He hasn't seen what she becomes when the adrenaline hits. That fire isn't his to tame. But it's mine and I am not about to lose it to some mere stablehand.'
He adjusted his gloves, masking the twitch in his fingers.
But Patricia's next words hit him like a bucket of horse dung was flopped over his head.
"Oh, is that so?" Patricia replied sweetly. "I must've forgotten to mention—Isaac is not only the horses' trainer but also my boyfriend. And the future master of this house."
She hooked her arm through Isaac's, her smile radiant and defiant.
"So no, he won't be going anywhere. And as for the horses, Mr. Thompson has been keeping things in order. Taking a short break isn't grounds for dismissal. Anyway, not like it's any of your business." She remarked. "Anyway —my love, this is Mr. Bernard Crisby, trainer for speed and marathon races. And over there is Mr. Carlos Hummington, obstacle race trainer. Bernard, Carlos—this is Mr. Isaac Phillips."
Carlos stepped forward with a polite nod. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Phillips. As Ms. Milton said, I'll be training her for the obstacle race. Which we should be conducting right now—Steven will be arriving shortly for the huddle race training."
"Oh, of course!" Patricia said. "I almost forgot. Carlos, go ahead and prepare the horses—I'll join you shortly. I just need to escort Isaac back to the house."
"Alright. Ten minutes," Carlos replied, heading toward the stables.
Bernard lingered, his gaze fixed on Isaac.
'Boyfriend?'
The word echoed in his mind like a slap.
'Him?She chose him? This stablehand? This quiet, brooding shadow of a man?'
He clenched his jaw.
'No wonder she brushed me off like dust on her boots. No wonder she looked at me like I was just another trainer. She's already hooked. And it seems like he didn't even have to try.'
His fists curled at his sides.
'I should've seen it. The way she looked at him. The way she softened. That wasn't admiration. That was possession. That was love.'
He exhaled sharply, masking the sting with disdain.
'Fine. Let her play house with her stablehand. But when it comes to the track—when it comes to glory—I'll remind her who really belongs in her world. And I'll remind him too. Since there is no diamond yet on that finger. Their future is not set in stone and I will make sure to be the victor in the end.'
He smirked slightly and cleared his throat.
"I'll be leaving now," he said coolly. "Don't do any wild activities. Tomorrow we are training for the marathon and it won't be pleasant after a night of....'rigorous activities'. I'll see you tomorrow."
He gave Isaac one last look—sharp, lingering—then turned and walked away.
Patricia growled under her breath. "The nerve of that jerkass.… Unbelievable!"
"It's okay," Isaac's voice rang out, steady and reassuring.
Patricia turned—and without hesitation, she threw herself into his arms, pressing her lips to his.
"Oh, Isaac… I missed you so much!"
"I missed you too, Sweeches," he murmured, holding her close.
They parted slowly, breathless, eyes locked.
Patricia took in the sight of him. He still looked handsome—his golden-brown hair tousled, his jawline sharp—but there was a weariness in his eyes, a shadow of exhaustion.
"I saw the news three days ago," she said, voice trembling. "They said the Blane mansion caught fire. I tried calling you, but you didn't pick up. I was so scared something had happened. Davis called and said everything was fine, but still… I needed to hear it from you. I needed to see you."
She frantically scanned his body for signs of injury, her hands brushing over his arms, his chest, his face.
Isaac gently caught her hands and smiled. "Don't worry, Sweeches. I'm fine. Nothing terrible happened. I promise."
"Really? Are you sure?" she asked, eyes searching his.
He chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I'm sure. Now let's get you back to the house. You need to freshen up before your next training session. We'll talk all you want afterward, okay?"
'Especially about the new macho muscles strutting around here', Isaac thought, his jaw tightening. 'I've been away too long. Now beef brains are circling my Sweeches like vultures. Well, I'm back—and I'm setting the record straight. Especially with the Blondie. I don't like that guy. Not one bit.'
He wrapped an arm around Patricia and led her back toward the house.
From the shadows, Bernard watched them walk away—arm in arm, laughter soft between them. His fists clenched at the sight of Isaac touching Patricia so affectionately.
He snorted, jaw tight, and turned away.
Without another word, he headed to his car and drove off.
.....
Meanwhile…
Riiiing!!
The bell echoed across the campus of Lancaster University.
"That concludes our lecture for today!" the lecturer called out. "Don't forget to read chapter twelve—we've got an in-class test tomorrow!"
Students began spilling out of the lecture hall, scattering across the campus grounds like leaves in the wind.
Alisha dragged her feet, her energy completely drained.
It had been the last lecture of the day, but the professor had talked for hours—and hijacked another lecturer's slot. It was devastating. Frustrating. Torturous.
"Uurg! Whoever said college was fun—I'm gonna find them and whoop their lying ass," she grumbled, trudging toward the gate.
But then—
She spotted Zach.
He was standing in a shadowy corner, speaking to a hooded figure. Again.
Alisha narrowed her eyes.
She watched as the hooded figure handed Zach a small packet, which he quickly pocketed.
Her jaw clenched.
This time, she wasn't letting it slide. She was going to catch them red-handed and find out exactly what they were up to.
"Zachariah Milton, if you're doing drugs, I swear I'm going to kill you," she muttered, stomping toward them.
But before she could reach them—
"Hey… beautiful."
A young man stepped in front of her, blocking her path.
He had short brown hair, warm brown eyes, a sharp nose, plush lips, and a medium-toned build. His cocky smile curled at the edges as he approached, radiating confidence.
Alisha blinked, momentarily thrown off.
Seriously? Right now?
"Oh, brother. This doofus again," Alisha muttered. "It was bad enough catching him bullying Tasha—and now he goes to this college? Unbelievable."
Travis stood directly in front of her, raising his left arm to swipe his hair in what he thought was an attractive flourish, flexing his bicep like a movie star. He'd seen it work on screen—girls swooning, hearts fluttering. But today, he was performing for a brick wall. The girl in front of him wasn't impressed. In fact, she felt like punching him for interrupting her mission.
"So… we meet again, beautiful," Travis said, flashing a cocky grin. "Our first encounter wasn't ideal, but I'm willing to let bygones be bygones. I'm giving you a chance to have me. For free. And I promise to treat you like a princess."
He winked.
'This is it,' Travis thought. 'The moment she realizes what she's been missing. The hair flip, the arm flex—classic moves. They work every time. I mean, look at me. I'm basically a walking rom-com poster.'
He subtly adjusted his stance, angling his body to catch the light.
'She's probably melting inside. Playing hard to get, sure—but that's just part of the game. They all do it. One minute she's barking, the next she's blushing. I've seen it a hundred times.'
His grin widened. However....
Alisha blinked. "Do I know you?"
Travis's grin faltered.
Travis paused, confused. "Excuse me… what?"
"Do. I. Know. You?" she repeated, her tone flat.
Travis's mind was hit ice
Then she scoffed. "Didn't think so. Too bad. I'm not interested in fleabags with baby gorilla muscles. Now move—you're standing in my way. Shoo! Before I swat you like the pest you are."
She brushed past him, eyes scanning the corner where Zach and the hooded figure had been.
Gone.
"Urrg! Just great! Thanks a lot, fleabag!" she snapped. "You better not cross my path again, or next time you'll regret it!"
She stormed off.
Travis, however, didn't hear half of what she said. His eyes were glued to her figure as she walked away, lost in his own fantasy. He watched as her backside bumped up and down inside her pink dress, drooling.
"I'm definitely holding that in my dreams tonight. Yes sireee." he murmured.
'She'll come around. They always do. I mean, who wouldn't want a guy like me? I'm charming, I'm ripped, and I've got that bad-boy edge. She'll be telling her friends about this moment by tonight. Just wait Alisha. Your Prince charming is just getting started. I won't stop until I hold those lovely big melons in my hands.'
He winked.
But his lustful thoughts were abruptly interrupted.
"Hey, Alisha!"
A young man approached—brown curly hair, thick brows, sharp nose, captivating brown eyes, and well-defined lips. His athletic frame was toned but not overdone. He wore a navy jean shirt, matching trousers, and sneakers, a school bag slung over his arm.
"Hi, Peter," Alisha said, her face lighting up with a smile.
They chatted briefly before heading toward Peter's sleek black Porsche. He offered her a ride. She hesitated, but after a bit of coaxing, she agreed. The two climbed in and drove off.
Travis watched the car disappear down the street.
His fists clenched.
"Oh. Looks like I got myself a pretty boy trying to sweep my beautiful princess off her feet. Well hell, he is barking up the wrong tree." he growled, slipping on his shades. "It is on!" He declared and hailed a taxi. His uncle Jethro had grounded him for smashing the side mirror on his favorite Porsche, so he was banned from driving.
He climbed into the taxi and gave the driver a different route.
One thing was certain.
It was a dark road.