Emma
The club’s estate had never looked this magical.
Not even close.
The moment I stepped back to take in the finished New Year’s setup, a warm, breathless satisfaction swept through me. Gold-rimmed lanterns dangled from the rafters, catching the light like flickers of captured stars. Deep navy fabric draped across the long tables, shimmering every time someone passed by. Metallic balloons bobbed lazily near the ceiling, and the floral centerpieces—frosted white roses wrapped in fern and pine—glowed under tiny fairy lights like winter constellations.
For once, the bikers weren’t scowling or grumbling their way through a gathering. They were smiling. Actually smiling.
And it hit me all at once:
This… this was my work.
My hands.
My vision.
My heart laid out in light and color.
“Ho
