Page 2 of The Biker and His Bride

RILEY

Riley stood on the pedestal of the Charleston bridal salon, surrounded by soft lighting, mirrors, and the hush of couture. The gown was perfect—sleeveless with a plunging back, handmade lace, a river of crystals flowing down the skirt, and a train that shimmered like moonlight. She looked like a princess. Elegant. Enviable. A thousand-dollar dream spun from silk and status.

But she didn’t recognize the woman staring back at her in the mirror.

Her reflection blinked, tilted her head, smiled faintly—just like her—but she felt like she was watching it all from outside her body. A hollow, third-person experience. The gown fit perfectly. So why did she feel like she couldn’t breathe?

The ring on her finger—an heirloom diamond halo, passed down from Caleb’s family—suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. Not a celebration. A shackle.

Her mother chattered in the background, oblivious to the panic rising in Riley’s chest. “The ceremony is going to be flawless. The gardenias are arriving from Savannah the morning of. Senator Hastings will be sitting next to the governor. I hadthem rearrange the seating chart so the press will catch all the best angles when you walk down the aisle.”

Walk down the aisle. Into what?

Riley forced a smile and nodded. “It’s all perfect.”

It wasn’t.

The chandeliers sparkledabove their heads, casting golden reflections over the polished cutlery and long-stemmed wine glasses. Everything about the restaurant screamed old money — from the crisply starched linens to the discreet staff that hovered like ghosts. Riley sat still, her spine straight, her napkin folded neatly in her lap, trying to still the churning in her gut.

Across the table, her mother was beaming. “This is the perfect place for the rehearsal dinner, don’t you think, Caleb?” she cooed, already envisioning the flawless photos, the magazine-worthy memories.

Caleb raised his glass lazily, half-full of aged Scotch. “It’ll do,” he muttered, eyes skimming the wine list like he was bored with everything around him — including Riley.

Riley’s gaze dropped to the massive diamond ring glinting on her finger. It caught the light beautifully, but tonight, all she could think of was how heavy it felt. Her hand felt foreign. Her whole life felt foreign. She glanced up at the tall, marble-backed mirror behind her mother and caught a glimpse of herself. Elegant, polished… empty. The woman staring back at her didn’t look like someone in love.

As her mother and Caleb carried on about caterers and florals and drone videography, Riley tuned them out. Her thoughts drifted, vivid and intrusive—she pictured herself in a beat-up car, her hair pulled into a messy ponytail, windowsdown, driving somewhere new, nameless, faceless, free. She imagined herself laughing. Really laughing.

Guilt slithered up her spine.

She had everything a woman was supposed to want: a handsome fiancé from a good family, a career in place if she wanted it, and a wedding that would rival a royal event. And yet…

“…don’t be late this time, Riley.”

Caleb’s voice snapped her back.

She blinked. “Sorry?”

He leaned forward, his voice low but cutting. “You were late for the florist last week. My mother said it was disrespectful. Show up next time, or just don’t bother.”

Her mother shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Riley like she wanted to smooth it over but said nothing. Just pursed her lips and took another sip of her rosé.

Riley smiled tightly, cheeks burning, and nodded. “Of course.”

But inside, her daydream was growing louder. Stronger. More vivid. And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a betrayal. It felt like a possibility.

1

RILEY

He passed out with a tumbler of scotch in one hand and his phone in the other, half-dressed in a tailored suit and sprawled across the leather chaise like a king after war.

Caleb always looked like money. Even drunk.

But the shine was long gone.

I stood in the hallway, silent as a ghost, one hand gripping the strap of my worn-out backpack that I picked up at the thrift. If I was going to run, I had to go unnoticed. My heart thudded against my ribs. Not from fear—at least not the kind I used to feel when he raised his voice. It was adrenaline now. The kind you get when you're about to jump off a ledge and hope the wind catches you before you splatter.

He called me an ungrateful bitch tonight. Said I was lucky he hadn’t traded me in for someone younger. Said his father could ruin me with a single phone call.

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