The Gentleman Biker
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His Unwanted Wife, The Hidden Genius
I flew back to New York on my twenty-fifth birthday, carrying vintage gold cufflinks I spent weeks finding for my billionaire husband, Declan. But when I walked into our townhouse, I found him throwing a massive victory party with Sloane, a glamorous socialite, standing by his side as the proud hostess. "Don't cause a scene. Go upstairs." Declan coldly dismissed me in front of his guests. Even Poppy, the rookie player whose shattered ankle I had painstakingly rebuilt, rolled her eyes and ignored me to suck up to Sloane. Hiding in the shadows, I heard the maids gossiping that everyone thought Sloane was the future Mrs. Hartford. To make matters worse, I discovered Sloane had stolen my anonymous, groundbreaking medical algorithm and was planning to present it as her own. First my husband, then the girl I mentored like family, and now the scientific foundation I had built with my own hands. Declan even texted me to cancel our birthday breakfast without a single apology, treating me like an annoying afterthought. My tears vanished, replaced by a freezing clarity. I signed the divorce papers, leaving them on his desk with zero demands for his money. Then I packed my bags, booked a one-way ticket to Boston, and prepared to destroy them on the global stage.
Chapter 1
Aurelia Vance POV:
I had been married to Declan Hartford for three years.
Today was my twenty-fifth birthday, and I had flown back from Boston in secret, hoping for one quiet evening with my husband.
I'd spent a week carefully picking out a pair of gold cufflinks as a gift for my husband.
But the laughter spilling from the front door told me I was already too late: the woman who had taken my place at his side was already inside.
The heavy oak door swung open before I reached the porch. Three young players from the New York Titans, Declan's NHL franchise, stumbled out with crystal tumblers of scotch, laughing loudly. They barely glanced at me as they passed.
I stepped into the grand foyer. The heat hit me instantly,expensive champagne, roasted tenderloin, cigar smoke.
Dozens of people filled the double parlor: executives, scouts, wives in designer dresses.
In the center stood Declan, tall and broad in a bespoke charcoal suit. Beside him, laughing into his ear, was Sloane Whitfield, her backless silver dress catching the chandelier light. Her hand rested on his forearm like she belonged there.
Before I could take another breath, a blur of blonde hair darted past my elbow.
"Sloane!" Poppy Delacroix cried, throwing her arms around Sloane's slender waist. "You were completely right about the catering! This is literally the best victory party the team has ever had!"
Poppy is fourteen, a junior elite forward prospect.
I scouted her two years ago from a crumbling youth league, back when she was at her lowest.
Her parents had once shown me great kindness, and I knew they had already passed away, leaving her all alone in the world.
Declan and I adopted her together.
I rebuilt her shattered ankle with a custom rehabilitation plan.
I had always loved and cared for her as both a mother and a sister.
Now, she did not even glance in my direction.
Declan turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the crowd until his eyes locked onto mine. The easy grin on his sharp jaw vanished instantly. His brows drew together in a hard, irritated line.
He excused himself from Sloane, cutting through the throng of players with long, impatient strides.
"Aurelia," Declan said, stopping two feet in front of me. His voice carried zero warmth. "What are you doing here?"
My throat felt like sandpaper.
"I took the four o'clock flight from Boston," I whispered, clutching the strap of my bag until my knuckles turned white. "It is my birthday, Declan. I thought we could—"
"We are celebrating the division win," he cut in, his tone sharp enough to draw blood. "The board is here. The sponsors are here. Sloane spent four consecutive days coordinating this event so the organization could project stability."
He did not look at me. His gaze slid past my shoulder to the bar, like I was a waitress who had wandered into the wrong room.
"Don't cause a scene," he added quietly. "Go upstairs."
A soft, mocking murmur rippled through a cluster of players' wives standing near the grand staircase. Two women with platinum blowouts exchanged knowing glances over their flutes of Dom Pérignon.
"I didn't know," I said, my voice barely audible over the swelling music. "I am sorry."
I turned toward the staircase, my legs trembling beneath my wool trousers.
Near the landing, Poppy was adjusting her designer jacket in the hallway mirror.
"Poppy," I said softly, pausing beside her. "How is your ankle feeling after Thursday's third period? Did you complete the isometric sequence I sent?"
Poppy rolled her eyes, sighing loudly as she pulled out her phone.
"Aurelia, please, not right now," she muttered without looking at me. "Sloane is introducing me to a marketing director from one of our partners. I don't have time for your spreadsheets."
The dismissive edge in her voice hit me harder than Declan's coldness. I had stayed up until three in the morning reviewing her biomechanical scans while she was recovering from surgery, and now I was just an annoyance in the way of her social ascent.
I walked up the rest of the stairs and entered the primary suite—the massive, sterile bedroom allocated to me under our prenuptial agreement.
I sat on the edge of the mattress and pulled out the velvet box. The gold cufflinks gleamed under the bedside lamp, cold and useless.
Downstairs, cheers erupted. The sound vibrated through the floorboards.
I walked to the French doors overlooking the rear garden. Down on the illuminated patio, Sloane was directing two servers by an ice sculpture. Declan stood beside her, his head bent down as he listened to her speak, his hand casually brushing the small of her back.
They looked like the couple the city expected them to be.
My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. I pulled it out, hoping against hope.
It was an email notification.
"Happy Birthday, Aurelia. Remember that true science requires patience and solitude. You are meant for greater arenas than New York boardrooms. -Dr. Edmund Sterling."
My mentor at Harvard was the only person in the world who had remembered.
I typed a brief "Thank you, Professor" and shut off the screen.
Hours passed. The bass eventually quieted, replaced by the occasional clatter of glassware and slamming car doors. My throat burned with thirst.
At two in the morning, I padded downstairs in my stocking feet to fetch a glass of water from the butler's pantry.
As I rounded the corner near the service hallway, the voices of two newly hired catering maids stopped me dead in my tracks.
"Miss Whitfield is stunning," the first girl whispered, scraping dessert plates into a bin. "Mr. Hartford's girlfriend carries herself like royalty."
"A girlfriend?" the other asked, pausing. "But isn't Mr. Hartford rumored to be married? Is it inappropriate to be this close with Whitfield?"
"Married?Where did that come from? Even if there was one, they must have split long ago. I've worked three events here this month, and Miss Whitfield is the only woman hosting by his side. Everyone knows she's the future Mrs. Hartford."
I shrank back into the cold shadow of the archway, my blood turning to ice.
In the home where I held a legal marriage certificate, my presence had already been wiped clean.
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Falling For The Biker
Sierra returns to Willow Creek, her small village with a wish to have a simple Christmas with her family. Relationship and love was far away from her agenda after her rough divorce but a second chance came knocking on a winter morning in the guise of the hot, billionaire biker. She tries to run from
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John Halifax, Gentleman
My father and I both glanced round, surprised at her unusual reticence of epithets: but when the lad addressed turned, fixed his eyes on each of us for a moment, and made way for us, we ceased to wonder. Ragged, muddy, and miserable as he was, the poor boy looked anything but a “vagabond.&rdqu
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The Biker King's Bride
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John Halifax, Gentleman
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A Gentleman of Courage
Pierre Gourdon had the love of God in his heart, a man's love for a man's God, and it seemed to him that in this golden sunset of a July afternoon the great Canadian wilderness all about him was whispering softly the truth of his faith and his creed. For Pierre was the son of a runner of the streams
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His biker girl, Her biker prince
He lifted his hand and brushed a strand of hair from my face, fingers grazing too gently. I snapped, "How many times do I have to tell you not to touch me?" His mouth curved, the faintest smirk. "You walked in here looking like a fucking temptation. And you think I'm not supposed to touch?" I tilted
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The Biker Alpha's Secret Baby
"You kept this from me, our child." Her heart pounded. Five years of secrets, of careful hiding, shattered in a single, terrifying moment. He knew. Asher Moretti knew. Aliyah Censori thought she was a biker bitch who knows a lot about the men that control the pedal and leather until she turns 20 an
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Claimed By The Ruthless Biker
Ava came to Greystone to disappear. Then Cain Harlow claimed her in front of every dangerous man in town. He was tattooed, feared and impossible to escape. So she stayed with him. But Cain knew her past before she ever told him. He knew who hunted her. He knew who betrayed her. And he was onc
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ATTRACTED TO THE BIKER OUTLAW
Grim: Nobody defrauds me. I take whomever I want, whenever I want, and I always leave them wanting more. I, too, want more. This kind of pain never goes away. After meeting Rhian, I know she's the antidote to my pain. Is her family made up entirely of cops? What's the big deal? All I want is to be
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A Gentleman from Mississippi
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Jilted Bride: Marrying The Biker King
I thought I was going to marry Jayson, a patched member of the Iron Lizards MC, until my phone buzzed on the damp bar counter. It was a text from an unknown number: "You should see what your man is really up to." Below the words was a stark picture of Jayson in the alley outside, his hands all ove
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Reborn Heiress: Rejecting The Biker Ex
I woke up to the deafening roar of heavy metal, holding a leather patch that read "Property of Harrington." Calhoun, the Vice President of the motorcycle club, sneered and ordered me to sew it on. He wanted to claim me tonight, forcing my family's massive transport fleet under his club's banner. B
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Greek Biker Billionaire: Yuri
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Rejected biker luna
"I'm sorry, Dam," she said softly, her voice smooth as silk. "I shouldn't have walked away. I missed you." My heart clenched. She stepped closer, her fingers brushing against his beard like she'd done it a thousand times before. He didn't pull away. "Selene..." Damon said again, this time lower, alm
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The Jilted Biker Heiress's Spectacular Comeback
"From tonight on, Farrah is my one and only Old Lady! As for you, Sloane... you're just my personal bed-warmer." In the deafening roar of the crowded motorcycle club, my boyfriend of five years hauled another woman against his chest, publicly stripping me of my title. The entire room erupted in la
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THE LAWLESS BIKER AND BADASS LAWYER'S REVENGE
I swore vengeance long before I swore the law. The night my twin sister's future was stolen, a promise was carved into my soul-to dismantle the empire of Alexander Stone, the ruthless leader of the Xander MC. Not with fists or bullets, but with patience, precision, and the law he thinks he's untouc
