Not Just His Old Lady

Chloe POV:

I'm in our room—what used to be our room—when the door opens. The scent of him, leather and whiskey, fills the space before he even steps inside.

I don't turn from the window where I'm staring out at the darkening training yard. I hear him sigh, the sound heavy with exhaustion and impatience.

"Chloe, we need to talk," Jasper says. His voice is the one he uses as Prez, the one that commands obedience from his men.

I finally turn, my arms crossed over my chest, a shield against him. "Talk? Or are you here to issue a decree?" My voice is ice.

He flinches, just slightly, and his jaw tightens. "Don't be like this. You know the code. Rick was a brother. He died for me."

"And I am your Old Lady," I retort, my voice shaking with a fury I can barely contain. "Or was that title just for when the sun is shining and no widows need a ride on the back of your bike?"

"This isn't about you and me!" he explodes, taking a step forward. "This is about my duty! The club's duty!"

"Your duty was to your brother. My place is on the back of that bike. You gave it to her. In front of everyone," I say, each word a carefully aimed dart. "You humiliated me, Jasper."

He runs a hand through his hair, a gesture of pure frustration. "It was the only way to show the club she has my full protection. That she's untouchable."

"So you made me touchable instead," I whisper.

He looks away, unable to meet my eyes. In that moment, I know. This wasn't a thoughtless act. It was a calculated choice. He chose his guilt over my honor.

"She and the kids will be staying in the guest quarters for now," he says, changing the subject. "I need you to... make her feel welcome."

A bitter, humorless laugh escapes my lips. "Make her welcome? You want me to welcome the woman you've practically installed in my place?"

"I'm giving her permanent protected status," he says, his voice low but firm, as if delivering a final verdict. "It will be announced at Church tomorrow."

My blood runs cold. Permanent status. That's a formal position, a step just below being an Old Lady. It gives her a voice, a standing, a permanence that no other woman in the club, besides me, has ever had. He's creating a second queen for his kingdom.

"No," I say, the word sharp and final.

Jasper's head snaps up, his eyes flashing with disbelief and anger. "What did you say?"

"I said no," I repeat, my voice gaining strength. "You will not stand up in Church and formally undermine my position. You will not create two queens for one throne."

"You don't give me orders, Chloe!" he roars, his Prez voice in full force, shaking the very walls. "I am the President of this club!"

"And I have been the woman who has held it together from the shadows!" I shoot back, my own anger finally breaking free from its cage. "While you were out playing soldier, who do you think kept the legitimate businesses afloat? Who made sure your men got paid?"

He stares at me, momentarily stunned by my outburst. He's not used to this fire. He's used to my quiet support.

"That's your role," he says dismissively, but there's a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "You handle the books."

The condescension in his voice is the final straw. The books. As if I'm just his high-priced secretary and not the reason those books even balance.

"Fine," I say, my voice dropping to a dangerously calm level. "You're the President. You make the rules."

I walk to the heavy oak dresser and unclasp the silver necklace from around my neck. It's a thick, custom-made chain with a single, heavy silver feather—his road name is Hawk. He gave it to me the night he claimed me as his Old Lady. The metal is cold against my skin.

I hold it out to him in my open palm. "If I am no longer your one and only, then I have no need for this."

He stares at the necklace as if it's a venomous snake, his face paling. To reject the claim is the ultimate act of defiance for an Old Lady. It's spitting in the face of the President.

"Don't you dare," he growls, his voice a low threat that promises violence.

"You made your choice, Jasper," I say, my heart aching but my resolve hardening into steel. "Now I'm making mine."

I open my fingers and let the necklace drop to the floor between us. It lands with a soft, final clink on the hardwood.

He looks from the necklace on the floor to my face, his expression a storm of fury, confusion, and something that looks terrifyingly like pain. But it's too late for his pain. He should have thought of mine.