Where Wild Mustangs Can't Run

For years, whenever I was on the verge of shattering, I would come to her room and talk.

On her lucid days, she would stroke my hair. "My daughter," she'd say, "my wild Montana mustang. You can't be penned up like this. If you can't take it, just come home."

But I always shook my head.

I always thought if I just waited, just endured a little longer, Lucian would eventually carve out a small place for me in his heart.

Until Cassandra came back.

He was in a family meeting when he took a call and bolted, all because someone at a party had made a pass at her. When I followed, I saw him truly furious for the first time, completely out of control.

Then, a few days ago, Cassandra fell, crying that I had pushed her. Lucian didn't even bother to hear my side before throwing me into that godforsaken estate.

The memory of those days and nights made my body tremble.

Now, I didn't care about any of it.

Except for my mother.

When I returned to the Cianci residence, I was surprised to find Lucian in the kitchen.

He was awkwardly microwaving takeout pasta. Seeing me, he thrust the plate at me, his expression guarded.

"You're too thin."

I took a bite in silence.

He suddenly began to explain. "Cassandra's heart was acting up. That's why I took her to the hospital."

I nodded. "Mm, I understand."

His hand shot out, gripping my wrist. "Understand? Rory, is that all you know how to say now?"

He stared at me, his eyes narrowed. "You've been on edge ever since you came back. First, you push her, then you shield her. What the hell is your game, Rory?"

"I'm warning you, her health is fragile. Don't try anything."

My face was impassive. "Lucian, I'm not playing a game. I've simply accepted reality."

He was about to say more when the doorbell rang.

Cassandra stood on the doorstep in a designer suit, a brilliant smile on her face. "Lucian, there's a yacht party. Are you coming with me?"

"Cassandra, you're not a child anymore," Lucian frowned. "I can make the introductions, but you have to make your own way. I can't hold your hand through everything."

Cassandra didn't bristle. Her gaze slid past him and landed on me. "Rory, you should treat yourself to a facial. I can see the stress lines around your eyes from here."

Her voice was sickly sweet. "A woman can't keep a man just by throwing tantrums. You have to take care of yourself."

My heart felt like a barren, windswept wasteland.

Not long after she left, Lucian's phone began to buzz furiously on the counter.

He answered, and Cassandra's drunken, tearful voice crackled through the speaker.

"Lucian, I'm on 'The Siren'... That producer, he... you have to come, quickly..."