Bound to the Biker King

TESSA The bristles of my brush danced across the canvas, blending soft strokes of blue and white as I lost myself in the rhythm of painting. The colors swirled together, forming something new, something almost alive. Then, through the quiet, I heard it—the low, familiar hum of an engine pulling into the driveway. Garrett. My breath hitched, my heartbeat quickening. He was home. I had scarcely had time to set my brush down before I was racing out of the studio, almost upending a stool in my haste. My feet were barely on the wooden floor as I galloped thunderously down the stairs, my heart pounding with anticipation. It was many days since I'd last seen him—days that dragged without end because of his absence. And here he was. The front door swung open just as I reached it, and there he was, stepping inside like he'd never been gone. His tall, commanding form took my breath for a second. His sharp features softened into a smile as his eyes met mine. Without a word, I flung myself into his arms, looping mine around his broad shoulders, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne—warm spice and something distinctly him. He chuckled softly, his strong arms encircling me. "Miss me that much?" I buried my face against his shoulder, nodding. "You have no idea." His arms tightened around me before he drew back, his gaze raking over me, assessing every inch. "You're pale, Tess." His voice was tinged with worry. "Have you been eating? Getting enough rest?" I let out a sigh, not wanting to discuss my bout of illness, however short-lived. "I've been okay," I assured him. "Just a little off, that's all." His brow furrowed, and he readjusted, bringing into view a bouquet of fresh lilies in one hand and a bag filled with painting supplies in the other. My heart literally melted at the sight—it always was, always so thoughtful. "For you," he said, pressing the flowers into my hands. "And I grabbed some new brushes and paints. Figured you'd be running low." A soft, warm laugh broke from me as I cradled the bouquet. "You know me too well." He smiled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "I missed you." "I missed you too." He let out a small breath, then his expression turned serious again. "You were sick? You should have called me." "It was nothing," I said quickly. "Just a fever. I'm better now." "Are you certain? I can still get the doctor—" I set my hand on top of his, shaking my head. "No. Truly you don’t need to worry." His mouth flattened to a thin line, but then he released a breath. "Okay. But if you start feeling the least bit unwell again, you let me know. okay?" I grinned, pressing his hand. "Understood." He pressed a soft kiss to my cheek, lingering for a moment before pulling away; his eyes said something I could not quite define. Guilt? Regret? But before I could dwell on it, he gave me a reassuring smile and brushed his knuckles along my cheek. "I'm sorry for not being around to take care of you," Garrett murmured. I shook my head. "You don't have to apologize. I know how busy you are." "But you're my wife, Tessa. I should have been here." There was an intensity in his voice, a weight behind his words that made my chest tighten. Garrett was always like this, so protective, so careful with me. Others whispered about him being controlling, keeping me closed off from the world, but they didn't understand. They didn't know what he saved me from. He took my hand and led me back upstairs to my studio. My heart swelled as I watched him carefully unbox the new paints and brushes, lining them up beside my easel like he knew exactly where everything belonged. "Perfect," he said, stepping back and admiring his work. "Now you have everything you need." I smiled, warmth spreading through me. "You always take care of me." He turned to face me, his expression unreadable for a moment before it softened into something almost wistful. "Of course I do, Tess." All I could do, watching him, was think how lucky I was. How Garrett had saved me, taken me away from all the horrors in my life as a kid. He gave me a home where I wasn't afraid all the time, a place where, finally, I felt safe. People didn't understand—how could they, anyway? They didn't know what it meant to grow up under my stepfather's roof, to face my sister Lily with that smile so sweet, sugary—how she spewed venom when she spoke. No, Garrett wasn't caging me. He was protecting me. Protecting what we had. He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "Get some rest, okay? I'll be in my study if you need me." I nodded. "I know." And with that, he was gone, disappearing into his study the way he did most nights. I knew better than to bother him when he was working. I turned back to my easel, breathing in the familiar scent of oil paints and fresh canvas. It was reassuring, grounding. I dipped my brush into a deep shade of blue, letting my mind wander as I lost myself in the strokes of color. After a while, the maid came with my usual herbal medicine. I reached for the cup absent-mindedly, but just as my fingers grazed the glass, it slipped. The sound was like a slap, jolting me out of numbness. "Dammit," I whispered as I started to get down on my knees to collect the fragments. Pain jabbed my finger as a sharp shard of glass cut through my skin. A small bead of crimson instantly welled up, staining the floor. I took a sharp breath in but ignored the sting and picked up the remaining bits of broken glass and mopped up the spilled drink . There was still the smell of the herbal medicine—the acrid taste of it, almost stifling . I should have gone back for another dose but didn't. I rinsed my hands and, putting a tissue around my cut finger, I headed to bed. I changed into my nightgown, exhaustion settling over me like a heavy blanket. It was the weight of all that had happened: Garrett coming home, his worry, his embracing warmth. Something should have comforted me about that, but something beneath the surface I just couldn't quite name. I slipped under the covers, closed my eyes, and, for now, totally forgot about taking my herbal medicine. At first, sleep came easily. The quiet hum of the house was lulling, a familiar lullaby. But then— A noise. My eyes snapped open. A door. Downstairs. I frowned, my heart skipping a beat. Garrett? I turned my head, expecting to see the soft light of the lamp in his study seeping under the door, but the hallway outside our bedroom was dark. Why would he be going out this late? Unease prickled at the back of my neck as I slipped out of bed, pulling my robe tightly around me. My bare feet barely made a sound as I stepped into the hallway, the cold floor sending a shiver up my spine. I went down the stairs, my heart beating faster with each step. Perhaps he had forgotten something in his car, or maybe one of the staff had come in late. But when I reached the bottom, I stopped dead in my tracks. The front door was open. And walking in, as if she owned the place, was Lily. I caught my breath in my throat. Lily? Her very well-fitting, black outfit outlined her. Her long dark hair flowed in a cascade of perfect waves down her back. Unrumpled by the late hour, flawless makeup, lipstick curling to her lips—knowing—when she smiled to close the door behind her. What was she doing here? I went one step ahead but something hindered me—perhaps instinct—or perhaps a warning that I'd have been better off heeding. Because what came next broke everything. Lily sauntered by the foyer with an ease that sent ice through my veins, like she'd done this a hundred times before. And then— Garrett stepped out of the shadows. For a brief moment, relief flooded me. There he was. He'd seen her too. Maybe he would demand why she was here, why she had the audacity to show up uninvited. But then— He reached for her. And she went willingly, falling into his arms with a practiced grace that made my stomach churn. Then, right in front of me, my husband—the man I had loved, the man who had promised to protect me— cupped Lily's face in his hands and kissed her. Not a polite, chaste kiss. No. It was desperate, hungry. The kind of kiss that stripped away doubt. That burned everything to ash. I couldn't breathe. No, no, no. I must have made a noise because Garrett's hands paused for half a second before he pulled her closer, his fingers digging into her hair. My chest constricted. My legs almost buckled beneath me. This was not happening. It could not be happening. But it kept getting worse. Because just as I was about to speak—just as I was about to force words out of my strangled throat—Garrett pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against hers as he whispered, "Didn't I promise to give you anything you wanted?" And then, from his pocket, he pulled out a small velvet box. My blood ran cold. He opened it with practiced ease, and inside, nestled against the dark fabric, was a ring. A perfect, diamond ring. A dead ringer for mine. My world started to spin. Lily laughed low in her throat, her long, slim fingers closing around the ring on its velvet cushion, sliding it onto her finger as if she'd been waiting a lifetime for this day. I grasped the railing beside me, my entire life balancing precariously on its axis. It couldn't be. But it was. Garrett hadn't just betrayed me. He'd replaced me.