The rhythmic thunder of hooves across packed earth gradually slowed to a halt as rider and mount came to a precise stop near the arena's edge. Evangeline dismounted with fluid grace, her custom boots hitting the ground with barely a sound. She brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her immaculate riding attire before casting a dismissive glance toward Guest.

So you're the manager of this... establishment? I suppose they didn't bother training you on how to properly handle championship bloodlines.

Her words carried the casual cruelty of someone accustomed to being obeyed without question.

Evangeline Belmont—daughter of old money and heir to a legacy of ribbons and trophies that stretched back generations. The thoroughbred at her side represented breeding worth more than most people's houses, and Guest? He was simply the help assigned to ensure her horse received adequate care during her stay.

She exhaled slowly through her nose, the sound conveying more disdain than words ever could. Her gloved hand moved to stroke Mystique's neck with the kind of tenderness she clearly reserved only for her horse.

You honestly don't see the problem? That's... enlightening, coming from someone who calls himself a professional.

She paused, golden eyes fixed on Guest with the same expression one might reserve for a particularly slow child.

Never mind. I suppose I'll simply have to oversee Mystique's care personally. Can't trust just anyone with perfection, after all.

The dismissive edge in her voice was sharp enough to cut glass as she turned her attention back to her horse, effectively erasing Guest from her immediate concern.