The Biker Alpha Who Became My Second Chance Mate Chapter 75

Athena's POV

Jess. His dead mate. The woman he'd never gotten over, never stopped loving.

He wasn't making love to me. He was making love to a ghost, to a memory, to someone who would never come back. In his drunken state, he'd confused me for her, and everything - the tenderness, the declarations of love, the promises - all of it had been meant for someone else.

Before I could stop myself, my hand flew across his face.

SMACK.

The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot. The force of it sent shockwaves up my arm, my palm stinging from the impact, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony tearing through my chest.

The slap seemed to snap Tristan back to reality. He blinked rapidly, his eyes clearing as he tried to focus on where he was, what had just happened.

I watched the confusion morph into horror as he realized he was in my bed, naked, and I was looking at him with pure hatred.

"Ath," he said, reaching toward me.

"Do not touch me," I said through gritted teeth, scrambling away from him so fast I nearly fell off the bed. "Don't you ever touch me again in your life."

My voice was shaking with rage, but I refused to let the tears fall. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me break down again. I'd cried enough tears over Tristan Hayes to fill an ocean.

"Oh my God, Ath. What did I just do?" he whispered, more to himself than to me.

"I need you to leave my room and my house, Tristan," I said, my voice growing stronger with each word. "I don't ever want you to talk to me again or show your face around me again."

"Ath, let's talk about this, please," he said, and I noticed the alcohol was completely gone from his voice now. Perfect timing.

"There's nothing for us to talk about. As of today, I'm not your sister. Not your anything anymore. We're done. Completely done."

I was breathing so fast I felt lightheaded, but I forced myself to stay upright, to keep my shoulders straight.

"I swear, whatever I said was a mistake," he tried again.

I let out a laugh that felt like broken glass in my throat. "What part was a mistake, Tristan? The part where you said you loved me?" His eyebrows shot up in surprise, like he hadn't realized he'd said it. "Or the part where you called me Jess while you were still inside me?"

His gaze dropped to the floor, and he said nothing.

That silence was all the confirmation I needed. Everything - every sweet word, every gentle touch, every promise - none of it had been for me. I'd been so incredibly stupid. Again.

"I'm sorry, Ath," he said quietly.

I laughed again, and this time the sound was so bitter it surprised even me. The pain was spreading through my entire body now, like poison in my bloodstream.

"You're sorry? Over and over and over again you keep doing this and keep saying sorry." I looked at him with a coldness I'd never felt before, and for the first time in my life, I felt actual hatred for Tristan Hayes. "Sorry doesn't fix anything anymore."

"Leave my house. And if anything should ever bring us together in the future, find a way to not be part of it. I'll try to do the same. I'll come to work, but I'd appreciate it if you stayed away from me like the stranger you apparently think I am. I don't know what excuse you'll give Orion, but that's your problem now. Get out."

I watched him scramble for his clothes scattered around the room. As he pulled on his pants and shirt, I felt absolutely nothing. It was like watching a stranger, someone I used to care about but whose face had become meaningless to me.

It was as if my brain and heart had finally reached their limit, had exhausted all the love and forgiveness they could give to one person who would never appreciate it.

Ciara was silent in my mind, but I could feel her pain mixing with mine. He'd hurt us both again, for the last time.

Tristan paused at my bedroom door like he wanted to say something else, but I stared at him with such complete indifference that he just turned and walked away.

I didn't cry. I held my head high and kept my shoulders straight as I followed him to the front door. The moment he stepped into the hallway, I locked the door behind him.

I didn't care how he was going to get home in his condition. I didn't care if he was sober now or still drunk. I didn't care about Tristan at all anymore.

What he'd done was so much worse than rejection. This was being invisible even when someone was looking directly at me. This was being a substitute for the woman he really wanted, the woman he would always want.

It was humiliating, but I finally understood something important: I deserved better. These past few weeks on my own had taught me that.

I walked back to my bedroom, gathered up my clothes, and threw them directly into the trash. I wasn't keeping anything that reminded me of tonight.

I wasn't going to break down or cry anymore. We were way past that now.

......

The next morning, I put on a fitted dress and went to work like nothing had happened. I felt perfectly fine, controlled, professional.

Work moved slowly, but I kept busy with reports and meetings. When I inevitably ran into Tristan in the hallway, I was relieved to see that he'd gotten my message loud and clear. He stayed far away from me, didn't try to catch my eye or start any conversations.

Good. That's exactly how I wanted it.

After work, I met Derek for another practice session. He kept asking if I was okay because he said my energy felt different today.

"I'm fine," I told him, because I was fine. Better than fine, actually.

The next few days fell into a comfortable rhythm. I had my own space, my independence, my growing skills on the motorcycle. I visited Orion when I had time, and everything felt balanced and healthy.

It had been a month since I'd started practicing with Derek, and after much pleading on my part, he'd finally agreed to let me race today.

"But not with the absolute beginners," he'd warned me. "These riders have been training for a year. They're experienced."

"I can handle it," I'd insisted.

"If you can win ten consecutive races against this group, I'll move you up to the next level," he'd said finally.

Now, getting ready for my first real race, I felt a mixture of excitement and nerves that was almost overwhelming.

I'd taken a long bath and put on my black leather pants, a fitted crop top, and my jacket. I didn't forget the black face covering that would hide everything except my eyes.

I couldn't risk anyone recognizing me, especially if word somehow got back to Orion.

I checked the time - one hour and thirty minutes until race time. I hadn't eaten lunch, and my stomach was growling, but I had no appetite. Food felt completely unappealing when adrenaline was already flooding my system.

Instead, I grabbed my keys and headed for the door.

......

The racing center was busier than I'd ever seen it. The stands were packed with spectators, and there was an electric energy in the air that made my skin tingle.

This wasn't just a casual practice session, this was a real competition.

Derek met me in the garage where Ciara was waiting. She looked perfect under the bright lights, her pink and purple paint job gleaming.

"You ready for this?" Derek asked, but he was studying my face with concern.

"I've been ready for weeks," I said, pulling on my helmet.

"Athena, listen to me. These riders are good. Some of them have been racing competitively for years. Don't try to win on your first race - just focus on finishing, on learning the track, on staying safe."

I nodded, but inside I was thinking something completely different. I didn't want to just finish. I wanted to win. I needed to win.

I needed to prove that I was capable of more than just being someone's backup plan or consolation prize.

As I walked Ciara out to the starting line, I could see the other riders sizing me up. Fifteen total, all of them clearly more experienced than me. Their bikes were sleek and professional-looking, and their gear was worn from frequent use.

I should have been intimidated, but instead I felt something fierce and determined rising up in my chest.

I straddled Ciara and adjusted my position, getting comfortable with the weight and feel of her beneath me.

Around me, the other riders were doing their own pre-race rituals - revving engines, adjusting mirrors, rolling their shoulders to loosen up.

The starting line stretched out in front of us, leading to a track that twisted and turned through a series of challenging curves and straightaways. I'd practiced on parts of this course, but never the whole thing, and never at race speeds.

My hands were shaking slightly as I gripped the handlebars, a combination of anticipation and nerves making my whole body vibrate with energy.

I felt my vision blur for just a moment - probably from not eating - but I blinked hard and forced myself to focus. This could not happen now. I couldn't fail when I was just getting started.

The flag official raised his hand, and the crowd noise faded to a dull roar.

Everything narrowed down to this moment, this bike, this track.

PUUUUURRRR.

The starting signal echoed across the facility, and I twisted the throttle.

Ciara shot forward like a rocket, and suddenly I was flying.

The world became a blur of speed and sound and pure adrenaline. The other riders were around me, beside me, behind me, but all I could focus on was the track ahead and the incredible sensation of moving faster than I'd ever moved in my life.