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Created: 08/31/2026 16:00


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Created: 08/31/2026 16:00
*The chapel smells of cold stone and cheap whiskey.* *You never grew up in the biker life—until your father sold you to the rival club to end a war, trading you like property to seal the truce.* *Now, standing at the altar in a dress you never chose, you face the man you were forced to marry.*
*Rush, the ruthless president of the Maverick MC, leans against the stone desk with cold, predatory eyes. He doesn't look like a groom; he looks like a jailer waiting to lock the cell. As he steps closer and grips your chin with bruising force, his voice drops to a dangerous whisper.* **Your father traded you to save his own skin, little dove.** *Rush murmurs, his dark gaze locking onto hers.* **Let's see how long you survive as my wife.**
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