Julian entered Samuel's office, keeping his voice a clinical monotone. He focused strictly on the spreadsheets, refusing to let the echo of the conversation he'd just overheard in the hallway break his professional mask.

Samuel remained silent. The atmospheric pressure in the room spiked, creating a heavy, airless tension.

Julian exhaled, a slow, deliberate release of breath. "If that's everything, sir, I'll get back to my desk".

"Wait," Samuel said.

Julian stopped. "Is there something else?".

"Do you have plans for the weekend?" Samuel asked.

"Overtime?".

"No," Samuel said. "A personal invitation".

A personal invitation. Julian's pulse did a frantic trip-step. He has someone else now. Why is he still trying to pull at my threads?. He kept his gaze on the floor, his expression cooling into a mask of indifference. "I'm meeting a friend this weekend".

Samuel arched a brow. "Jordan Nash?".

Julian looked up, meeting his stare. "Is there a problem?".

Samuel watched him for a long beat. Eventually, he gave a slight shake of his head. "None".

Julian turned and walked out. He did have plans; Jordan had picked up a promotion for an equestrian-themed game and needed to learn the basics of riding. Jordan's uncle was a member of an elite club and had transferred some unused sessions to him. Since it was free, Julian had agreed to go along.

The ranch was on the outskirts of New York City, far from any public transit. Jordan picked him up in a borrowed car. It was Julian's first time seeing Jordan behind the wheel, and the initial sense of "watching a kid grow up" was immediately slaughtered by the actual experience.

Julian had ridden in many cars. Samuel was the best driver he knew—smooth, surgical, with no perceptible lag in acceleration or braking. Jordan was the bottom of the barrel.

As Jordan took a sharp corner with a screech of tires, Julian gripped the ceiling handle until his knuckles went white. "Jordan! Do you actually know how to drive?".

"Of course! I just got my license," Jordan shouted over the roar of the engine, grinning with terrifying confidence. "Watch this!".

"AHHHH!".

By the time they reached the ranch, Julian was dizzy and pale, his stomach churning.

"We're here," Jordan said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Julian leaned against the car, hand over his chest. "Give me... a minute".

The air was thick with the scent of the ranch—earth, hay, and the sharp musk of horses. Julian downed half a bottle of water and followed Jordan to the registration desk. The facility was massive: a central fenced arena flanked by villas that served as stables and offices.

After checking in, a staff member informed them of a 10:00 AM theory class. Julian and Jordan headed to the changing rooms. The club was high-end and exclusive; they didn't offer rentals or trial gear. Julian had refused to spend a fortune, so he was decked out entirely in budget gear from Decathlon.

The breeches were thin and skin-tight. Julian caught his reflection and felt like a fetishist. He glanced at Jordan, who looked just as ridiculous, and felt a small wave of relief.

They entered the classroom and were surprised to find it filled mostly with children. They were the only adults in the room. Julian figured it made sense; riding was a high-risk sport and the younger generation was always more eager to dive in.

At 9:55 AM, voices drifted from the hallway.

"I didn't expect you to teach today, sir. This group is very lucky".

"A coincidence," a familiar baritone replied. "I was here to check on Archer".

"He's in peak condition. Ready for a tournament".

"Good".

The door opened. A staff member stepped inside. "Good morning, everyone. We have a rare honor today. One of our senior riders will be leading your introduction to horsemanship". The staff member stepped aside. "Mr. Frost was a member of the Harvard equestrian team and has won multiple international awards. He is a Middle-Level 1 rider in both show jumping and dressage".

A tall man walked into the room.

Julian and Jordan both froze.

Standing at the front of the room, in full equestrian gear, was Samuel Frost.

Samuel looked like old-money royalty. While Julian felt like he was wearing a costume, Samuel wore the gear with a lethal, tailored elegance. The tall riding boots made his stride look powerful and crisp. The white breeches mapped the heavy, corded muscle of his thighs.

Julian couldn't take his eyes off him. The children in the room didn't bother pretending to be cool; they let out an audible "Wow!" and chirped, "Hello, Teacher!".

"Good morning," Samuel said, stepping to the podium. He set a gear bag aside and began. "Horsemanship has a long history. It is a sport of elegance and challenge, defined by the cooperation between human and animal...".

Samuel's voice was a low, hypnotic vibration in the small room. Julian found his mind drifting, his gaze landing on the half-length of a whip protruding from Samuel's bag. It wasn't the soft, coiled thing from movies. It was a long, rigid jumping bat with a supple leather tip. Julian could almost hear the whistle it would make cutting through the air.

Then he saw Samuel pick it up. Samuel wore black gloves that emphasized the sharp angles of his knuckles—tight, restrictive, and entirely clinical.

Julian's throat went dry.

"...First, we must understand the horse's physiology," Samuel said, his voice sounding distant and seductive. "A well-trained horse is easy to lead, but there are protocols for establishing a connection...".

Crack!

A sharp snap echoed through the room. Julian jumped, snapping back to attention to find Samuel standing directly in front of him.

Samuel held the whip, his dark eyes looking down at Julian. "Student. What was the last thing I said?"

Julian's face burned. "Before... before riding, you have to establish a connection".

"And the methods?" Samuel pressed.

"Leading, grooming, and feeding," Julian stammered.

"An accurate summary." Samuel stepped back. "Horseback riding is a high-risk sport. You must be prepared with helmets, gloves, boots, and breeches".

"Understood!" the children chirped in unison.

"Teacher?" one boy asked. "What is that whip for? The ones on TV are soft. Yours is hard".

Samuel glanced at the bat in his hand. "This is a jumping bat. It is not for intimidation or punishment. It is for giving clear commands and providing proper guidance".

Julian thought of their conversations months ago. Even after all this time, the "guidance" Samuel had given him was still a weight in his mind. Julian looked away, but Samuel's voice followed him.

"Modern whips are divided into three types: lunging, jumping, and dressage. Each has a specific function... At this stage, spurs are unnecessary. In the hands of a novice, they only cause injury".

The children nodded, looking thoughtful. Julian, meanwhile, was mentally cursing himself for the "yellow waste" flooding his brain as he listened to Samuel talk about tools and commands.

"I won't bore you with more theory," Samuel concluded. "Go to the stables and lead your horses out. The other instructors and I will provide a demonstration in the arena".

As the kids filed out, the staff member approached Samuel. "Are you really handling the practical instruction, sir?".

"If it's permitted," Samuel said.

"Of course! Absolutely," the staff member said, nodding frantically. "I'll get two coaches to assist you".

For the ranch, the real profit wasn't in the lessons; it was in the clients who bought horses. A decent horse cost six figures; a purebred cost seven.

Samuel kept a competition-grade horse at the ranch valued at over $1 million. Letting a man like that show off for the members was the best advertisement they could ever ask for.