I wasn't supposed to be late.
Not on my first day.
Not when the world already thinks i'm some rich girl playing pretend with horsepower—both the real kind and the engine-powered ones.
But Jupiter don't care.
His left hind leg was trembling when i entered the stable at 5:17 AM, and he hadn't touched his food.
I knew that tremble, just enough to notice, too subtle for the grooms to catch.
"Vet," I said immediately, barely able to keep the edge out of my voice. "Now."
A cold wind blew through the stalls.
I ran my hand down Jupiter's neck, feeling the heat that shouldn't have been there.
He leaned into me, breathing slow, as if he knew i wasn't just anxious, I'm breaking apart.
Not again.
He's more than just a horse to me.
He was my win, my only constant, the only one who showed up, because he had no choice, sure, but still.
He didn't miss my races.
He didn't pretend i wasn't good enough to congratulate.
It took the vet thirty minutes to arrive, and another thirty to calm me down after he said it might just be overexertion.
I nodded, teeth clenched.
Jupiter was fine, probably.
But i'd already lost time.
-
By the time i got into the car, it was already 6:53 AM.
Training started at seven sharp.
Grand Circuit looked like something plucked out of a billionaire's daydream.
No, scratch that.
It's a billionaire's daydream—owned by the Buenaventura family, built on legacy money that dated back generations.
White gravel crunched under my tires as i pulled up to the east wing, past a row of luxury cars lined like trophies.
I parked, turned off the engine, and stared at my reflection in the windshield.
Eyes too tired.
Lips too dry.
Face too guarded.
Breathe.
Inside, the staff was already moving like clockwork, crisp polos, radio headsets, clipboards clutched to tight chests.
As i walked past them, they didn't even try to hide the glances.
I could hear the whispers. "She's late."
"That's the Gutierrez girl."
"The one from the races, right?"
I kept walking.
The conference room was on the second floor, and i took the stairs because elevators were too slow, or maybe i just needed to move.
I pushed the door open, and—
There he was.
Standing at the end of the long table, hands in the pockets of a gray jacket, eyes like stone, Lorenzo Buenaventura.
Cold. Composed and pissed.
He didn't say anything at first.
Just looked at me.
No surprise.
No greeting.
No trace of the night in US where our lives had blurred and boundaries disappeared.
That night didn't exist here.
"You're late," he said, voice low but sharp.
I swallowed. "Jupiter—"
"I don't care," he cut me off. "If this is how you treat your training schedule, I suggest we end this before it begins."
My jaw clenched. "My horse was injured. I waited for the vet."
"Then you should've called," he said, like it was that easy. "Or does the Gutierrez name excuse everything?"
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
A few junior staff shifted awkwardly in their seats.
One of them dropped a pen, and it sounded like thunder.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to throw the table and ask him if he remembered the way i clung to him that night, the way we didn't need names, or rules, or stupid schedules.
But i didn't.
Because he was looking at me like none of that ever happened.
Because maybe, for him, it didn't.
"I'm here now," I said through gritted teeth.
His gaze didn't waver. "Then let's begin."
-
Training wasn't easy.
Not because the drills were hard, they were, but that wasn't the issue.
It was him.
His voice, too even.
His critiques, too pointed.
His posture, perfect like a machine.
Lorenzo didn't yell.
He didn't raise his tone.
He just made you feel small in the quietest ways possible.
"Your grip's too soft."
"You oversteered."
"That was late braking. Again."
He walked like a general.
Watched like a hawk.
Never once called me by my name.
Atasha? Not once.
Miss Gutierrez. That's all i got. Like i was someone in a ledger.
By the time the morning was over, I could barely feel my fingers.
My palms stung.
My chest was tight, and not from exertion—anger sat like iron in my lungs.
Every breath felt like work.
Every time he passed by, my skin crawled.
He wasn't supposed to be here.
He wasn't supposed to be like this.
Cold. Unmoved. Detached.
But i didn't let it show.
Not even when he leaned over the engine and barked another quiet correction like i was some rookie from a magazine shoot.
"You want to race? Then stop driving like a debutante."
I looked him in the eye. "And you want to train me? Stop acting like i asked you to."
A flicker of something passed through his face.
Then gone.
"Lunch in twenty," he said.
And walked away.
-
The drive home was blur.
I didn't remember turning out of the gates, or the way the city passed by in streaks of silver and blue.
All i knew was i wanted to throw something, scream into a pillow, or punch a wall.
When i finally stepped into our house, I didn't say a word.
"Welcome home, Ms. Atasha," a maid greeted softly.
I didn't respond.
Not because i'm rude. But because if i opened my mouth, I might cry.
The marble echoed under my boots.
I passed the dining room, where our chef was plating lunch.
No one was there.
I passed the living room.
Empty. Like always.
Upstairs, the hallway felt colder than usual.
I threw my bag on the couch by my bed and locked the door behind me.
I'm done.
I sat on the edge of my bed, shaking.
What the hell just happened?
What is this?
How can someone make you feel so invisible and so exposed all at once?
I buried my face in my hands.
It wasn't just about being late.
It was the way he looked at me like i didn't belong.
Like i was wasting his time.
Like i hadn't mattered.
Not that night. Not now.
I'm twenty-two. I race horses. I've won medals. I've trained harder than anyone else i know.
And yet today, I felt like a nobody.
Because of him.
Because of Lorenzo freaking Buenaventura.
I stood up, pacing.
It wasn't fair.
People said my family drowned themselves in business so we didn't have to.
So I didn't have to do this.
That my name alone could get me in anywhere, do anything, and marry anyone.
That love was optional.
That success was guaranteed.
But they were wrong.
I never wanted money.
I never needed fame.
I just wanted someone to say, You did well.
To say, You matter.
I opened my phone, stared at the screen.
Nothing.
No missed calls.
No messages.
Not even a hi from my brother, though i knew he was probably busy rehearsing, or on a flight to Seoul.
And honestly? I wasn't even mad at Seb anymore.
He was kind.
At least when he was around.
But them?
Mom. Dad.
Do they even know i had training today?
Do they know i'm almost late, not almost, i'm literally late, because Jupiter was limping?
Do they even care?
I threw my phone on the bed and closed my eyes.
I didn't want pity.
I don't want a perfect Instagram family or TikTok-worthy surprises or those fake speeches at charity balls.
I just wanted to be seen.
Not as a daughter.
Not as a Gutierrez.
Not as Miss Araneta.
Just… me.
—
The sun had started to set when i finally moved.
I changed out of my suit and slipped into an oversized hoodie.
I tied my hair in a messy bun and walked to the window.
Outside, the city buzzed.
Billboards lit up.
Cars flashed by.
Somewhere, a concert was probably starting.
A hospital wing was being named.
A ribbon was being cut at a new hotel.
My family's empire never slept.
But i was tired.
Of all of it.
And somewhere inside me, something hardened.
If Lorenzo wanted cold, I could freeze.
If my parents wanted distance, I'd be a ghost.
If the world wanted a shadow of a girl, then fine.
Let them.
But i wouldn't break.
Not now.
Not ever.