Jilted Ex-Wife? The Biker's Queen Returns

From the back cover

For three years, my trust fund paid for my husband Brandon's law degree and his family's lavish lifestyle.

But today, he walked through our front door with his arm wrapped tightly around a blonde woman's waist.

He told me her name was Ivey, demanding I play the gracious hostess because his mother and grandmother already adored her and thought she was a better fit for their prestigious family.

When I asked for a divorce, his family panicked but still acted incredibly entitled.

His mother ordered me to hand over this month's dividend to throw a welcome party for the mistress.

"A wife's duty is to manage the accounts, not to question her husband's social activities."

She said it as if my money was their birthright. They had maxed out my credit cards to pay for his Porsche and threatened to ruin me if I didn't comply.

They actually thought they could kick out the host and keep the parasite alive.

They thought I was just a fragile, compliant wife who would be nothing without their last name.

They had no idea who I really was, or the gritty world I originally came from.

I calmly instructed my assistant to freeze every single joint account and cut off their lifelines.

Then, I packed my worn leather jacket, grabbed a silver ring carved with a bird of prey, and drove straight into the city's underbelly to find the most dangerous biker boss in town.