Pampered By The Rival Underground Boss

Jolene Battle POV:

Sitting in the cab of my battered pickup, I watched Genevra's furious silhouette fade into the rearview mirror.

Two years ago, my mother passed away in grief and ruin after the Woodward family stripped her of every single patent; Monroe, my mentor, was hounded to the brink of death by the very same bloodline. Alec knew that history down to the bone, yet he still chose to sleep with the daughter of my worst enemy. Any lingering gratitude or fragile love forged during that fatal desert crash had finally burned to ash under his calculated, day-to-day cruelty.

I pushed down the bitter ache in my chest, pulled out my encrypted satellite phone, and called Connor back.

"Get my independent mechanic certifications and interstate clearance paperwork processed through the Department of Transportation," I said, my voice steady. "Thirty days. I'm walking out."

On the other end of the line, Connor’s voice was low and steady. "Consider it done. Come by the back room of the Iron Horse Saloon tomorrow morning. I’ll introduce you to the man behind Lynch Industrial. He holds your micro-injection architecture in exceptionally high regard—you two will have plenty to discuss."

"Understood."

Thirty days from now was Alec's birthday and the club’s officer election—the exact day he assumed he could toss me aside with a counterfeit document.

I hung up, intending to drive straight back to the satellite garage apartment. Before I could pull out, the console radio buzzed with an incoming call from the Langley family estate.

It was their mandatory semi-monthly family dinner. I had no interest in attending, but the custom shop still had an independent R&D equipment fund that required Eleanor Langley’s sign-off before the bank would release the funds. The shop’s ledger had been bleeding red for months, and Eleanor had withheld that approval for over a year.

I drove up the winding driveway of the Langley hillside estate. The moment I stepped through the grand foyer, I saw Genevra and Alec sitting side-by-side on the primary leather sectional.

He had brought her straight into his family’s home, completely discarding my dignity as his lawful wife.

Eleanor was holding Genevra's manicured hand, beaming with open adoration. "I heard from your father that you secured the exclusive West Coast parts distribution rights on behalf of the Woodward syndicate. What an accomplished young woman! I still don’t know what kind of curse got into the old president's head, forcing Alec to marry a nameless stray from the dirt... You are miles ahead of her in every way."

Genevra gave a demure, practiced smile. "Jolene has some technical certifications from Caltech. She isn't entirely useless."

"Her?" Eleanor sneered, waving her hand in disgust. "A common grease monkey hiding in an engine bay. She squeaked by with an unpatched diploma—how could she ever compare to you?"

I walked forward, keeping my face impassive, and held out the approval folder. "Mrs. Langley, I need your signature."

Eleanor’s expression soured instantly, her voice rising into a sharp rebuke. "No respect, no manners! Making an entire room wait on you, and you stand there like a statue? Get down to the kitchen and check if the barbecue is ready!"

Catching the mocking gleam in Genevra's eyes, I turned my gaze toward Alec.

Alec wasn't Eleanor’s biological son; their public harmony masked vicious private power struggles. In the past, whenever Eleanor crossed the line, he would at least speak up to shut her down.

Now, the towering man leaned back against the cushions without uttering a single word, silently endorsing his mother’s humiliation of me.

Worse, right before the eyes of every ranking road captain and patch-holder in the room, he picked up a fresh cup of tea and handed it to Genevra with gentle, attentive care.

My palms ached as my nails bit into my skin. The final remnant of warmth in my chest turned completely to stone.

Without a word of protest, I pulled the file back, spun on my heel, and walked out the front doors.

Cold coastal rain was beginning to sweep across the valley, soaking straight through my canvas work jacket.

Back at the quiet apartment, I retrieved the thirty-day fake separation agreement from the drawer and returned it to its hiding spot. Then, sitting in front of my terminal, I printed two crisp, legally binding copies of a genuine Separation and Asset Relinquishment Agreement.

For two years, I had poured everything into being a devoted wrench and a loyal partner, only to be paid back in betrayal and deceit.

Fortunately, cutting my losses now was still in time.