Page 3 of The Jealous Girl

I swallowed hard. No. I’d come too far to back out now.

She wouldn’t.

She hadn’t.

I opened my eyes, resentment hardening my resolve.

It hadn’t taken her long. Ryan had only moved back into the Blackwaters’ family home a couple of days ago, and she already seemed to be living with him here. I gritted my teeth. I doubted she had been put in the guest room. Unlike me when I’d stayed here.

How was it that a yard hand had been treated more like family than I ever had as Ryan’s girlfriend?

A yoga mat swung from her shoulder as she locked the front door and slipped her keys into her pocket.

I knew she didn’t work on Mondays, but I’d expected her to have a more exciting lifestyle when she wasn’t at the stables. Or at least a lazier one. Even on her day off, she was up early, glowing with energy, a neat ponytail, leggings fitting like they’d been designed for her. She didn’t look like someone heading to sweat through a workout.

Jealousy spiked hot and sharp in my chest. She had everything.

As she drove slowly down the long gravel driveway towards the road, I shrank down in my seat, instinct overriding common sense as I failed to realise until too late that hiding was likely to draw more attention to me.

If she turned left, she’d head away from me. But if she turned right, she’d come straight past.

The car paused at the end of the drive.

My breath caught as the right indicator blinked.

I froze.

Fortunately, she drove on, oblivious to my presence.

I snorted. Funny how she had a way of doing that.

Hurriedly, I pushed myself back up into my seat, cursing myself for having parked pointing in the wrong direction. My heart pounded as I pressed my foot against the accelerator and performed a clumsy three-point turn, anxious that she would be out of sight if I didn’t hurry up. The gears grated angrily beneath my hand as I rammed the gearstick forward.

I was not going to fail.

I followed her down the winding lane and out onto the main road, curious to know where she was heading. Charlotte had never talked about her life outside Blackwater Stables. Then again, given I was currently stalking her, perhaps she had a good reason not to.

She seemed to know every detail of my life. My weaknesses. My fears. My past. And she knew how to use them against me. Perhaps that made her more cautious about what she shared about herself – she knew better than anyone how easily even the smallest detail could be weaponised.

Not that she would ever imagine I would be any kind of threat to her. She’d written me off years ago. To her, I was harmless. Weak. Disposable.

It would never have occurred to her that I would fight back.

That I could.

That had been her mistake.

2

THEN

One Month Earlier

Mid July

My knee bounced against the table leg, making my cup rattle on the wooden surface. Noise pressed in from all sides. Voices overlapping, laughter rising too loudly, suitcase wheels rumbling and chairs scraping over the tiled floor, the coffee machine hissing behind the bar.

I took a shaky breath. The bar in the departure lounge was packed, the tables were pushed close together, bags obstructed every walkway, people huddled in pairs and groups.