Page 1 of A Billionaire's Secret

1

Victoria

“Comeon,Sahara,comeon! Run like the wind... You got this, just a bit faster... Don't let me down, my love, faster, faster...!"

I could see the finish line as Sahara galloped, picking up pace faster by the second, with the wind rushing past me. We were moving fast, but the adrenaline in my system made me see everything in slow motion. The sound of the crowd was deafening.

This was it. The race I’d spent months training for. Winning the “Kentucky Club Stakes” meant everything to me. I would finally catch a break and use the prize money to pay off my debts so that I could keep training and racing.

My Arabian thoroughbred Sahara was in top form, and I had never felt more confident. We were so close to the finish line I could almost taste victory. But then, out of nowhere, through my peripherals, I saw another horse coming up on the outside.

I didn't immediately recognize the jockey, but her horse was fast. Really fast. As we approached the finish line, Sahara and the other horse were neck and neck.

"Come on, Sahara!" I screamed, my throat feeling numb and sore. I urged her on, but it was no use. The other horse was edging us out by a nose.

"No, no, no!" I yelled out, my legs gripping the saddle so hard they almost crushed it.

Sahara and I crossed the finish line, devastated. In second place. I jumped off and patted the shiny caramel coat of my tired horse. Her intense eyes stared down as if she knew she had let me down. The sheer disappointment washed over me, threatening to drown my spirit.

No, it was I who let Sahara down.

But then, as I looked up, I saw her—the toffee-nosed, gorgeous rich girl who had just bested me. She stood surrounded by her ridiculous pompous entourage, laughing and reveling in her victory. Her blonde hair ran free to her mid-back, and her blue eyes shone like sapphires on a perfectly round face with rosy cheeks.

My heart sank as I watched her gleeful celebration. The taste of bitterness tainted my mouth as I realized the stark contrast between our worlds. I came from humble beginnings, pouring every ounce of my being into this sport I loved. Every breath, every loss, and every stride were a testament to my dedication and determination. And now, it felt like all my efforts had been in vain.

As I stood there, my racing silks clinging to my sweat-soaked body, I caught a glimpse of her name tag. Diana Forbes. Suddenly, she glanced in my direction, her eyes locking with mine for a moment. A smug smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as if she knew the extent of my frustration. The fire in her eyes mirrored my own but for entirely different reasons. In that instant, a mix of anger, distrust, and a hint of jealousy coursed through my veins. I didn't know her, but I already despised her.

Diana’s entourage gathered at the winner’s circle as she and her horse strutted proudly to accept the trophy. They all rejoiced, their voices carrying a sense of entitlement that made my blood boil.

“That’s my girl,” a husky voice resounded through the loud crowd.

I turned around to see who the voice belonged to and watched Diana jump off her horse and nestle into a tall, statuesque man’s arms. His thick, wavy hair was perfectly quaffed, with just a few gray streaks to suggest class and sophistication. He hugged her tight and pecked the top of her head as her arms wrapped around his waist.

I jolted my head and looked away, blood rushing to my cheeks as his fiery eyes caught my stare and his lips curled into a subtle smirk across his chiseled jawline.

Jerk! What is he smiling at?

The bitter feeling of defeat was accompanied by something else. A sour taste I couldn’t quite explain. The sport had taught me to win and lose gracefully, but this time something felt off. I knew Desert Rose, Diana’s horse, and I’d never seen it perform like this. I wondered if they had tampered with doping.

I scoffed at myself as I realized that frustration was clouding my judgment. Nevertheless, disappointment consumed me as I watched the victor revel in her glory.

Just as I was about to finally walk away, contemplating my next move, a familiar figure emerged from the crowd. John Harrison, the owner of Sahara, had always been a supportive presence, his belief in me unwavering.

John approached me with a sympathetic expression, his eyes filled with understanding. He could sense my desolation and the weight of the loss. Without a word, he pulled me into a comforting embrace, offering me solace in his arms.

"Victoria," he said gently, his voice carrying a mix of compassion and determination. "That was a tough race, but there’s always next time. Sahara can do better. And don’t worry, I’ll give you a larger cut of the prize money this time."

I nodded and managed a faint smile. Together, we walked back toward the stables, our steps accompanied by hoofbeats and the murmurs of trainers and stable hands.

His words provided a balm to my wounded spirit. But even with a larger cut, I would only pocket a few hundred dollars from the second-place win. Not nearly enough to cover my ever-increasing debt at Barrington Downs.

As the racetrack began to quiet down and Sahara was safely at her stable, I made my way toward the jockey quarters to change out of my racing silks.

"Victoria, tough break out there," Tony Mortimer, my seasoned trainer and mentor, approached me from around the corner. His eyes reflected a mix of empathy and encouragement.

"Get changed and meet me at ‘Harry’s Bar’ tonight. We’ll review the race together, analyze what happened, and see how we can improve for the next one." He instructed me.

Tony was a tall, wiry man with a weathered face that spoke of countless hours spent under the sun. He wore his customary attire—a worn-out jacket emblazoned with the stable's logo and a faded-blue cap that shadowed his face. Tony's presence exuded a mix of authority and warmth, a reassuring presence amidst the chaos of the racetrack.

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