Three Alpha Bikers Wants An Open Marriage

"I'm sorry, Miss Riley... but your son didn't make it."

The surgeon's words still echoed in my head as I gripped the steering wheel harder, driving faster, the leather digging into my palms. I could still see his face-the sadness in his eyes, the quiet way he spoke, like even he couldn't find the right words to soften the blow he dropped.

But there is no gentle way to tell a mother her baby is gone.

He was eight months old.

Eight months of fighting.

Eight months of hoping.

My baby boy.

My little fighter who came into this world with weak lungs and tiny hands, but a heartbeat that stole mine the first time I held him. He had been sick since day one. One infection after the other. Hospital visits. Medication. Sleepless nights. I lived my life between the company and the NICU.

And now last night was the worst. He had trouble breathing again, and his oxygen levels dropped dangerously low. I had rushed him to the hospital in my pajamas, cradling his burning little body against mine, whispering to him that it would be okay.

But it wasn't.

The doctors said he needed emergency surgery. I sat alone all night in the hospital hallway, praying. Begging. Holding onto hope like it was the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

I called Ethan, my husband. I told him what was happening. I told him it was serious-that this time it felt different. I told him I was scared.

I needed him. Our son needed him.

But he didn't come.

He didn't answer the second time. Or the third.

And hours later, he picked up the call...His reply?

"I'm busy. Just take care of it and make sure nothing happens to him." But now something has actually happened to him.

And now... here I am. Dressed in black. Not just because I buried my son this morning, but because something inside me died with him.

I should've stayed home. I should've been in bed, or curled up somewhere holding onto the last onesie he wore, crying until I couldn't breathe. But I wasn't allowed that kind of peace. Not in this life. Not when I had a company to run and a reputation to keep intact.

So I showed up.

Because today wasn't just the day I buried my own child, today was also the day some so-called "important" investors, according to Ethan, were supposed to meet us-*his* friends, men he'd been talking to for years, trying to get them to invest in the company. He said it was crucial that I be there. That we couldn't afford to mess it up.

And not even grief was a good enough excuse.

Our company sits at the edge of Crescent Hollow, a city where humans live alongside packs-mostly in an uneasy truce. It's a place where dominance can be sensed in the air, and hierarchy matters more than laws. You can feel it in the way people move.