Jilted Ex-Wife? The Biker's Queen Returns

Karyn POV:

"She will be staying in the suite directly opposite our master bedroom."

Brandon's demand hung in the vast, silent living room. The sheer audacity of it suffocated the air between us. He stood there, his arm wrapped tightly around another woman's waist, demanding his mistress sleep right across the hall from his wife.

I stared at the man I married, a knot of pure disgust twisting in my stomach.

Just an hour ago, I had been sitting on the plush sofa, a warm sense of anticipation fluttering in my chest. My fingers had traced the smooth, metallic edges of an old piston ring in my pocket-a grounding piece of my motorcycle club's garage. This morning, Brandon had kissed my cheek, his eyes bright as he promised a special surprise tonight. I had spent the afternoon imagining an anniversary trip or a celebration of his latest courtroom victory.

Instead, the heavy oak door had swung open to reveal Brandon looking effortlessly handsome in a tailored suit, accompanied by a blonde woman with wide blue eyes and a diamond necklace catching sharp shards of light from the crystal chandelier.

"This is Ivey Cervantes," he had announced, his tone casual, polishing his infidelity with the sheen of ambition. "Her family has extensive connections in the legal field. It's crucial for my networking. I expect you to be a gracious hostess."

Ivey had offered a sweet, calculated smile, stroking her diamond pendant to show off a prize she had clearly just won. "It's so lovely to finally meet you."

I had swallowed the metallic taste in my mouth, locked my features into a mask of absolute calm, and offered to have the housekeeper prepare the guest room at the far end of the east wing.

Which led to his current, outrageous declaration.

I took a step forward, my heels sinking into the Persian rug, bringing myself firmly back to the present. I kept my gaze locked entirely on Brandon's pale brown eyes.

"The suite opposite ours?" I tilted my head slightly, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Brandon... have you forgotten our financial arrangement?"

A blotchy, angry red flashed across his face. He hated any reminder of the boundaries I had set.

Puffing out his chest to save face in front of his new prize, he sneered. "You think a piece of paper matters right now?" He gestured broadly around the opulent room. "Look around, Karyn. Who holds this family together? Without my career, without my status, you're just a grease monkey playing dress-up. This house relies on me to maintain our prestige in high society!"

Before I could respond to his delusion, Ivey tugged gently on his sleeve. She bit her lower lip, her eyes welling up with manufactured tears.

"Brandon, please, don't fight because of me," she whispered, her voice trembling perfectly. She shot me a look, her blue eyes glittering with vicious triumph under the guise of innocence.

"If your... wife doesn't like me being here, I just won't come around anymore. I don't want to cause trouble."

Brandon instantly melted, wrapping both arms around her in a protective embrace. He glared at me. "Nonsense, Ivey. This is my house, and you are staying exactly where I said. She just needs to learn her place."

I watched his pathetic performance, the irony sharp and heavy.

He stood there, preaching about high society and his house, conveniently forgetting how he got there. Every tuition bill for his prestigious law school, every custom-tailored suit he wore to impress wealthy clients, and the very foundation of his current life had been paid for by the legitimate profits of my motorcycle club.

The grease, the sweat, the late nights balancing the books at the garage, and the roaring engines of my crew had funded his arrogant courtroom persona. He was a parasite who had convinced himself he was the host.

I squeezed the piston ring in my pocket, the cold metal grounding me in reality.

For the past few months, I had attributed his emotional distance and our bland routine to his exhausting caseload. I had actually pitied him, believing he was simply working too hard for our future.

Looking at him now, holding his shiny new prize, the truth was glaringly obvious. I had made his life entirely too easy.

"Right," I murmured, offering him a cold, knowing smile. "Your prestige."

I turned and walked toward the stairs, leaving them in the foyer. Let him enjoy his grand delusion for tonight. Tomorrow, I would sever the financial lifeline. I looked forward to seeing just how effortlessly handsome and carefree Brandon Prince remained once he had to fund his own high-society lifestyle.