The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife

Chapter 117 Chapter 117: Riding the SHorse Angela POV "Angela! Are you ready? The race is about to start!" Tristan's voice called through the door of the changing room.

I took several deep breaths, wiping away the last traces of tears. Focus, Angela. You're here for Wilson Advisory Partners. This is about the future of your company-your children's future.

What happened with Sean was a mistake. A momentary lapse. Five years of carefully rebuilding my life wouldn't be undone by one encounter, no matter how intense.

I yanked my arm from Sean's lingering grip. "Get out," I commanded, my voice shaking but firm.

Sean studiedsilently, his emerald eyes revealing a storm of emotions I refused to decipher. After what felt like an eternity, he adjusted his clothing and walked toward the door without another word.

Once alone, I hesitated. Part ofwanted to flee, but the rational side of my brain prevailed. Lawrence Capital's investment was too important. I couldn't sabotage a potential partnership because of personal complications.

I slipped into the riding outfit the club had provided-the smallest size available. It fit reasonably well, though it felt tight across my chest. Professional. Composed. That's what I needed to be.

Through the slightly ajar door, I glimpsed Tristan and Jessica approaching-likely coming to check on my "fall." Their steps faltered when Sean emerged from the direction of the women's changing area.

"Mr. Shaw?" Jessica's voice was high with surprise. "Why are you coming from there?" Tristan looked puzzled, but Sean ignored them completely, his jacket draped casually over his arm as he strode past.

When Tristan moved toward the changing room, Sean's voice cut through the air like ice. "Where do you think you're going?" Chapter 117: Riding the SHorse "To check on Angela. She might be hurt," Tristan explained, perplexed by Sean's sudden interest.

Sean's eyes narrowed dangerously. Before the situation could escalate, I pushed the door open and stepped out.

All eyes turned to me. Tristan's gaze lingered appreciatively on my fitted riding gear, and I felt Sean's intense stare burning intothough I deliberately avoided meeting it.

"I'm fine," I assured Tristan with a practiced smile, walking directly toward him. "Though I should warn you—I've never ridden before. I hope that's not a problem?" "Not at all," Tristan replied, clearly pleased by my presence. "I'll guide you through it." "Wonderful. And after the race, we can discuss the investment proposal for Wilson Advisory Partners?" I added, maintaining my professional focus.

"Absolutely," he agreed immediately, offering his arm.

At the field, stable hands led out two magnificent horses-a sleek black Arabian and a muscular brown Thoroughbred. Their imposing size made my stomach tighten with apprehension.

"The rules are simple," a staff member explained. "There's a red flag at the summit of the eastern ridge. First to retrieve it wins." I nodded, watching as Sean effortlessly mounted the black Arabian. His movements were fluid, confident-clearly he'd done this countless times before.

Jessica sidled closer to him, seemingly eager for the opportunity to ride together. Meanwhile, Tristan approached me, preparing to helponto the Thoroughbred.

Suddenly, Sean guided his horse directly in front of us, blocking our path. "Get on," he commanded, his eyes fixed on me.

I stood frozen, deliberately ignoring him. This was about business-my company's future depended on impressing Tristan.

"I said, get on," Sean repeated, his authoritative tone making everyone around us tense, even the club staff.

2/4 Chapter 117: Riding the SHorse I lifted my chin. "You're mistaken, Mr. Shaw. I'm Mr. Lawrence's guest, not yours." Sean's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. Without warning, he surged forward on his Arabian, the powerful animal releasing a piercing neigh as it charged toward me.

Gasps erupted around us. Tristan shouted, "Shaw! Have you lost your mind?" and attempted to pullbehind him.

Before I could fully process what was happening, Sean's arm shot out, gripping my waist. With one powerful motion, he hoistedup onto his horse in front of him. The movement was rough but precisely executed.

As Sean urged the horse forward, I instinctively clutched his jacket, terrified of falling. I'd never been on horseback before, and the animal's powerful movements beneathwere disorienting.

Sean pulledmore securely against him, positioningproperly on the saddle. Once we'd stopped a short distance away, I found my voice.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I demanded, though my fingers still gripped his arm tightly, feeling the taut muscles beneath his shirt.

"Saving you from certain injury," he replied coldly. "Would you really trust Lawrence's riding? He broke two ribs at a charity event in the Hamptons last year. Wall Street Journal covered the 'incident-man can barely stay on a horse." Tristan had galloped up beside us, his face flushed with anger. "Shaw, what gives you the right to take my guest? Do you two know each other?" "Your guest?" Sean's voice carried a clear threat.

"I invited her here as a potential business partner," Tristan insisted. "Return her toimmediately."

Looking back, I saw Tristan standing defeated, reluctantly turning to m Jessica. "Care to joininstead?" I imagined him saying as Jessica hesitantly climbed onto his horse, her eyes still fixed on Sean.

I faced forward again, acutely aware of Sean's arms encirclingas he held the reins.

3/4 Sean paid no heed to the interruption, his focus unwavering as he expertly guided the horse toward the starting line.

His strong arms encircled me, his hands sliding possessively argund my waist, fingers pressing into the curve of my hips with a quiet, commanding confidence. I could feel the warmth of his broad chest flush against my back, his breath hot and steady near my ear, carrying a scent that was unwelcomely familiar.

I felt it, clear and strong-his hard-on pressing againstas we moved with the saddle's rhythm.

Instinctively, I squirmed in his embrace, my body twisting against his in a futile attempt to reclaim sdistance, ssemblance of control.

But the friction only heightened the tension.

"Stop moving, Angela," Sean murmured, his voice low and edged with a warning, his grip tightening to still me.

"You'll throw us off balance-trust me, you don't want to fall. It's a long way down, and I'd hate to see you hurt." His words were practical, but the husky timbre of his tone betrayed something more, a subtle challenge woven into the restraint. Trapped in his arms, my heart raced, torn between defiance and the dangerous thrill of the moment.

I hated how my body instinctively remembered his-hated the conflict raging inside me.

For five years I'd convinced myself I was free of Sean Shaw, yet here I was, literally and figuratively unable to escape his grasp.

And the race hadn't even started yet.