I thought my wedding day would be calm, beautiful, predictable — the kind of story you tell with a soft smile years later. Instead, it turned into something wild, terrifying, and strangely perfect. And it all started on an empty Texas road with a dead limousine, a lost driver, and a biker who looked like he’d stepped out of every warning poster I’d ever seen. My name is Rachel, and at 4 PM on June 15th, I was supposed to be walking down the aisle at St. Michael’s Church in front of two hundred guests. At 3 PM, I was...
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