Chapter 3 Shattered dreams

Sage's POV

The clubhouse looked exactly the same.

I sat in Ryder's truck outside the Steel Wolves compound, staring at the building that used to be my whole world. The same weathered wood, the same neon beer signs in the windows, the same motorcycles lined up like soldiers in the parking lot.

But everything felt different now. Smaller. Rougher around the edges than my memory painted it.

"You okay?" Ryder asked.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. The ride from the airport still burned between us. I could still feel his thumb on my cheek, still see the hunger in his steel-gray eyes when he almost kissed me.

Six years ago, I was eighteen and thought I was so grown up. I thought I knew what I wanted, thought I understood the way Ryder looked at me sometimes when Jaxon wasn't watching. But he was twenty-eight then, my brother's best friend, and I was just a kid with a crush on the dangerous enforcer who treated me like a little sister.

Now I was twenty-four, and the way he looked at me in that truck wasn't brotherly at all.

"Come on," he said, getting out. "Jaxon's waiting."

I followed him toward the clubhouse, my heels clicking against the asphalt. The sound felt wrong here, too fancy, too New York. A few club members stood outside smoking, their eyes following me as I walked past. I recognized some faces, but they looked older now and harder.

"Sage." Tommy Kane, Ryder's younger brother, stepped forward with a sad smile. "I'm sorry about your dad."

"Thank you." I hugged him briefly. Tommy was sweet, nothing like his older brother's dangerous edge.

The inside of the clubhouse hit me like a wall of memories. Leather and beer and cigarette smoke, the smell of my childhood. Pool tables where I used to play with the guys who treated me like their princess. The bar where my father held court every night.

"Sage."

I turned to see Jaxon walking toward me. My brother looked tired, older than his thirty-five years. The weight of leadership was already settling on his shoulders.

"Jax." I threw my arms around him, and for a moment, we were just siblings grieving their father.

"I'm glad you came home," he said against my hair.

"Of course I came home."

He pulled back to look at me. "You look good. Different."

"Six years will do that."

"Yeah." His green eyes, so much like mine, were red-rimmed. "We need to talk. About what happens next."

I nodded and followed him to the back office that used to be Dad's. The room still smelled like his cologne and cigars. His leather jacket hung on the back of his chair like he might walk in any moment.

"The funeral's tomorrow," Jaxon said, settling behind the desk. "Then we figure out who did this."

"Do you have any leads?"

"A few. Nothing solid yet." He rubbed his face with both hands. "Sage, I need to know, are you staying?"

The question hit me like a punch. "What do you mean?"

"Are you staying in Millbrook? With the club? Or are you going back to New York after we bury him?"

I stared at him. "I have a life in New York, Jax. A job, an apartment, a fiancé…"

"A fiancé who doesn't know who you really are."

The words stung because they were true. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it? You've been playing dress-up for six years, pretending you're someone else. Dad's dead, Sage. You're all the family I have left."

"You have the club."

"It's not the same." His voice cracked. "I need my sister."

Guilt twisted in my chest. I stood up, suddenly needing air. "I can't do this right now. I just got here, Dad's not even buried yet, and you're asking me to choose between—"

"Between what? Between your real family and your fake life?"

"It's not fake!" The words exploded out of me. "I worked hard for everything I have in New York. I built something clean and safe and normal."

"Normal." He said the word like it tasted bitter. "You think that's what you want? To be normal?"

"Yes." But even as I said it, I wasn't sure anymore. The way Ryder looked at me in the truck, the familiar weight of being home, it all felt more real than anything I built in Manhattan.

"Fine." Jaxon leaned back in his chair. "Stay for the funeral. Then go back to your normal life. But don't expect me to pretend this doesn't hurt."

I left the office without another word, my chest tight with guilt and confusion. The main room of the clubhouse felt too small, too full of memories. I needed to get out, to think, to remember why I left in the first place.

The funeral came and it was filled with a mixture of leather and tattoos. My dad was laid to rest and everyone gathered at the club house for some drinks.

I felt suffocated and the sudden urgent need to get out of there.

"Leaving already?" Ryder's voice stopped me at the door.

I turned to face him. He leaned against the bar, all dangerous edges and watchful eyes. Even at eighteen, I knew he was trouble. Now, at twenty-four, I could see exactly what kind of trouble he was.

"I need some air."

"It's a lot to take in."

"Is it?" I crossed my arms. "Because it looks exactly the same to me. Same violence, same drama, same men thinking they can tell me what to do with my life."

Something flickered in his eyes. "Jaxon's just scared. He doesn't want to lose anyone else."

"And what about you? What do you want, Ryder?"

The question hung between us like a loaded gun. He pushed off from the bar and walked toward me, each step deliberate and predatory.

"That's a dangerous question, princess."

The nickname made my skin flush hot. He used to call me that when I was eighteen, before I left. Before I grew up and learned that fairy tales don't exist.

"I'm not eighteen anymore."

"No," he said, stopping just close enough to make my pulse race. "You're not."

"I have to go." I turned for the door again.

"Running away again?"

I spun back to face him. "I'm not running. I'm leaving. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

Before I could answer, I was out the door and walking to the street where I could call a cab. The air was cold against my skin, but not as cold as the look in Ryder's eyes when I walked away.

Two hours later, I was on a plane back to New York.

I didn't tell Bradley I was coming home early. After the funeral, after seeing Jaxon's pain and Ryder's hunger and the life I left behind, I needed comfort. I needed normal. I needed to remember why I chose Manhattan over Millbrook.

My key turned in the lock of our apartment, and I smiled for the first time in two days. Home. Safety. The life I built with my own hands.

"Bradley?" I called out, dropping my purse by the door. "I'm home."

No answer. His keys were on the hall table, so he was here. Maybe he was napping or in the shower.

I walked down the hallway toward our bedroom, already imagining his surprise when he saw me. I was going to tell him everything, about my father, about the funeral, about the world I came from. No more lies, no more pretending. If we were going to get married, he deserved the truth.

I pushed open the bedroom door and froze.

Bradley was in our bed. But he wasn't alone.

Sarah was under him, her blonde hair spread across my pillow, her manicured nails digging into his back. The same Sarah who helped me pick out my engagement dress. The same Sarah who was supposed to be my maid of honor.

They were so lost in each other that they didn't notice me at first. I stood there like an idiot, watching my perfect life explode into pieces.

Bradley saw me first. He went still, his eyes widening with something that might have been guilt if he cared enough to feel it.

"Sage." He didn't even have the decency to get off her. "You're not supposed to be back until next week."

Sarah pulled the sheet up to cover herself, but she didn't look sorry. She looked satisfied.

"I came home early," I said, my voice surprisingly calm. "Silly me."

"This isn't…" Bradley started.

"What it looks like?" I finished. "Because it looks like you're screwing my best friend in our bed."

He finally rolled off her, not bothering to cover himself. "Sage, let me explain."

"Oh, please do. I'm dying to hear this."

Sarah sat up, the sheet clutched to her chest. "Sage, I'm sorry, but—"

"But what?" I turned to face her. "But you couldn't help yourself? But it just happened? But you're actually doing me a favor?"

"Actually, yes." Sarah's chin lifted with defiance. "You don't belong here, Sage. You never did. You're playing dress-up, pretending to be something you're not."

"What are you talking about?"

Bradley stood up and reached for his pants. "She's right, you know. This whole thing was never going to work."

"What whole thing?"

"Us." He pulled on his shirt, casual as if we were discussing the weather. "Come on, Sage. Sarah told me everything. You really thought someone like me would marry someone like you?"

The words hit me like bullets. "Someone like me?"

"Biker trash trying to play princess," he said with a cruel smile. "Don't get me wrong, it was fun while it lasted. Rough girls are amazing in bed. But marry you? Bring you home to my parents as Mrs. Hamilton? That was never going to happen."

I stared at him, this man I thought I loved, this man I thought loved me back. The ring on my finger felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

"I was slumming it, baby," he continued, his voice getting colder with each word. "You were a walk on the wild side before I settled down with someone appropriate. Someone like Sarah, who actually belongs in this world.”