THE PRESIDENT'S PROPERTY: AN ENEMIES TO LOVERS BIKER ROMANCE

The town of Blackridge had not changed…much.

The same narrow roads wound through its older neighbourhoods. The same brick buildings stood shoulder to shoulder along Main Street, and the same collection of shops occupied the corners where they had stood for decades. Even the old clock tower in the town square remained, its pale stone face weathered by years of rain and snow, its hands moving with the same determination.

But the people had changed. Businesses had come and gone, familiar faces had disappeared, and new ones had taken their places. Blackridge had continued living while some of its residents had been left behind.

A black SUV moved through the town, its polished exterior reflecting the fading afternoon light. It passed a small diner, a hardware store and a row of houses with neatly trimmed lawns before turning onto a quieter residential street.

At the end of the road stood a large two-storey house surrounded by mature oak trees. The white paint on its exterior had dulled, the garden had grown wild in places, and the once pristine flower beds were now crowded with weeds. A pair of shutters hung unevenly beside one of the upstairs windows. The front porch, which had once been decorated with colourful pots of flowers, now looked neglected. The house had belonged to Thomas Carter. And now, it belonged to his daughter.

The SUV rolled to a stop in the driveway and a moment passed before the driver’s door opened. Amelia Carter stepped out, dressed in tailored black trousers, a cream blouse and a fitted jacket. Her long dark brown hair fell over her shoulders, and a pair of oversized sunglasses shielded her eyes from the afternoon sun.

She stood beside the vehicle for a moment, looking at the house. There was something unsettling about seeing a familiar place in a state of abandonment. The house had once been the centre of a busy household, with its doors opening and closing throughout the day, the sound of music drifting from upstairs, and the smell of her father’s cooking filling the kitchen whenever he decided to attempt one of his elaborate recipes. Now, the windows were dark. The curtains were drawn, and a thin layer of dust covered the front windowsills.

Amelia removed her sunglasses and slipped them into her handbag. She reached into the pocket of her jacket for the keys the estate lawyer had given her before leaving his office then walked up to unlock the front door.

It opened with a reluctant creak. Inside, the air was stale, carrying the faint smell of furniture polish and closed rooms. Nothing had been moved… Not really.

Her father’s reading glasses still rested on the small table beside his favourite chair. A newspaper lay folded beside them, its date several months old. The clock in the corner had stopped working, and the house seemed to be waiting for someone who would never return.

Amelia placed her handbag on the console table and walked farther inside, her heels clicking against the wooden floor as she passed the sitting room and entered the dining area. Beyond it was the kitchen. A faded photograph in a silver frame stood beside the coffee machine. It showed Thomas Carter standing in front of the house, one arm around a much younger Amelia.

Amelia picked up the photograph and stared at it. The picture had been taken years ago, long before university, business meetings, property proposals and the complicated responsibilities of adulthood had taken over her life. Her father had insisted on taking photographs whenever they visited somewhere new, and he had never understood why she complained about it. He had always wanted to preserve moments. Perhaps that was why there were so many photographs in the house. She returned the frame to its place and continued through the rooms. The house was only one part of what she had inherited, but the Carter Estate was the real concern.

It was a sprawling piece of land on the outskirts of Blackridge. It included the family residence, several outbuildings, a large warehouse, a private lake and acres of woodland. Its location had become increasingly valuable over the years, particularly with the highway and industrial district only a short drive away. It was also the foundation of Amelia’s plans.

She planned to turn it into a luxury destination unlike anything Blackridge had seen. A boutique hotel, private lakeside villas, a spa, a fine-dining restaurant and an infinity pool overlooking the water. There would be walking trails through the woodland, a private event space and enough facilities to attract visitors from outside the state.

The plans had taken months to develop. Investors had been approached, preliminary figures had been calculated, and an architect had already begun working on the initial designs. There were still plenty of details to resolve, but the project was no longer a distant ambition. It was supposed to be the beginning of something substantial, and the estate was supposed to make it possible.

Amelia’s phone began to ring from inside her handbag and she returned downstairs to retrieve it. She glanced at the screen. Daniel Whitmore, the estate lawyer, had already called twice since she left his office.

“Hello, Daniel.” she answered.

“Amelia. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.”

A faint smile touched her lips. “I’ve been here less than an hour.”

“An hour is quite a long time when a lawyer is waiting for an important client.”

“Then perhaps you should find a hobby.”

Daniel laughed softly. “I take it you’ve arrived at the house?”

“Yes. I’m looking around now.”

“Good. I wanted to make sure you received all the documents.”

“I have them.”

“Excellent. There are still a few matters we need to discuss regarding the estate, particularly the existing arrangements attached to the warehouse.”

Amelia paused. “The warehouse?”

“Yes. I mentioned it during our meeting.”

“You mentioned that the property had several outbuildings. I don’t remember anything about special arrangements.”

There was a brief silence on the other end. “Your father allowed a local organisation to use the warehouse some years ago. The arrangement was informal, but it has continued for quite a long time.”

“What organisation?”

“The Iron Vipers Motorcycle Club.”

Amelia frowned. “A motorcycle club? Why are they using my father’s property?”

“Your father had a personal relationship with the previous president. They reached an agreement, and the club invested a considerable amount of money in renovating the warehouse.”

“Did they pay rent?”

“Not according to the records I have.”

“Then what exactly was the agreement?”

“Your father permitted them to occupy the warehouse and maintain the surrounding area. My understanding is that he retained ownership of the land and could terminate the arrangement if he wished to use the property himself.”

Amelia looked towards the kitchen window. Beyond the garden, the tops of the trees marked the direction of the estate. Somewhere beyond them stood the warehouse Daniel was talking about. “And what happens now that my father is dead?” she asked.

“Legally, the property belongs to you. The arrangement does not constitute a registered transfer of ownership.”

“Meaning they have no claim to it.”

“Meaning you are the legal owner, yes. However, I would strongly advise against approaching the matter without first understanding the circumstances.”

Amelia’s expression tightened. “Are you telling me that I need permission to use my own property?”

“Not at all. I’m simply saying that the situation may be more complicated than it appears on paper.”

“How complicated can it be? They are occupying land that belongs to me.”

“Amelia—”

“Daniel, I have a development project to begin. I cannot have an entire section of the estate occupied by people who have no intention of paying rent or leaving.”

“Then we should arrange a meeting with the club’s representatives.”

“Fine. Arrange it.”

“I’ll make some calls.”

“Please do.”

After ending the call, Amelia remained by the kitchen window for a moment.

The Iron Vipers Motorcycle Club.

The name was vaguely familiar. There had been motorcycles in Blackridge for as long as she could remember, and the club had occasionally made the local news. There were stories about fights, arrests and disputes with other motorcycle groups. Her father had never discussed them in much detail, but apparently, he had known them well enough to let them settle on his land. That was something she would have to address.

She placed her phone on the counter, opened her handbag and removed a leather folder containing the preliminary resort plans. Several architectural sketches were clipped together at the front. A large illustration showed the proposed hotel overlooking the lake, its glass exterior reflecting the surrounding woodland. The warehouse occupied a substantial portion of the land earmarked for the development. It would have to go. There was no room in the design for a motorcycle clubhouse, a garage full of bikes or whatever else the Iron Vipers had decided to establish there.

Amelia gathered the documents and returned to the sitting room. She spread the plans across the coffee table, studying the drawings and making a few notes.

The Iron Vipers had been there for years. They had made the warehouse their home, renovated its interior, installed security systems and built their own world behind its doors. Their motorcycles occupied the grounds, their members came and went as they pleased, and the surrounding land had long been treated as an extension of their territory.

For them, the Carter Estate was not simply a piece of land. It was the place where their brothers gathered, where their meetings were held, where their lives were built around the club, and they had no intention of giving it up.

At the centre of it all was a man who had inherited more than the presidency of the Iron Vipers. He had inherited the responsibility of keeping the club alive. His name was Ryder Kane.

And before long, the new owner of Carter Estate would discover that removing the Iron Vipers would be considerably more difficult than sending them a letter. For the first time in years, the Carter family home had an owner again.

Unfortunately, so did the warehouse.