The cold New York wind whipped through Jaelynn's hair as she stood on the sidewalk. She hailed a Yellow Cab, her body shivering violently in her thin silk dress.

She collapsed into the backseat, exhausted to her bones. The cab drove her back to the Upper East Side, to the Grant family's penthouse.

She punched the security code into the keypad and pushed the heavy front door open.

The massive apartment was pitch black. The only light came from a thin, yellow sliver shining from beneath the master bedroom door down the hall.

Jaelynn kicked off her high heels. Her feet ached. She walked barefoot across the thick Persian rug, heading toward the kitchen. She needed a glass of ice water to press against her swollen, throbbing cheek.

As she walked past the hallway leading to the master bedroom, she stopped.

A sound drifted through the crack in the door. It was a heavy, muffled panting, followed by a sickeningly sweet whisper.

Jaelynn's bare feet froze on the carpet.

She knew that male voice. It was the exact same voice that had screamed at her and slapped her in the club just hours ago. Artie.

Her stomach dropped. Her hands began to shake uncontrollably.

She reached out, her trembling fingers pressing against the slightly open door. She pushed it open.

The blood in her veins turned to solid ice.

In the center of the room, on the massive King-size bed, her mother, Jayne, was wearing a sheer silk nightgown. She was tangled intimately with Artie.

Jaelynn's mind flashed to the sterile white room at Mount Sinai Hospital. Her father, Garfield, was lying there right now, a plastic tube shoved down his throat, fighting for his life.

A wave of pure, violent nausea hit her.

Jaelynn shoved the door open all the way. It slammed against the wall with a loud bang.

Jayne let out a high-pitched scream. She scrambled backward, pulling the heavy duvet up to her chin to cover her body.

Artie didn't panic. He slowly sat up, reaching for his silk robe. He tied the belt around his waist and turned to look at Jaelynn. He had the smug, arrogant look of a man who had won everything.

Jaelynn raised her shaking hand, pointing a finger at the bed.

"How could you?" Jaelynn's voice cracked, shattering in the quiet room. "How could you betray Dad? How could you betray this family?"

Jayne didn't look guilty. She didn't even blush. She smoothed her messy hair and glared at her daughter.

"Stop screaming in the middle of the night, Jaelynn. Grow up," Jayne snapped, her voice dripping with annoyance.

Something inside Jaelynn snapped.

She lunged into the room. She grabbed a heavy, crystal perfume bottle off the vanity and hurled it straight at Artie's head.

Artie ducked. The bottle smashed against the wall, exploding into a thousand sharp, glittering pieces.

Artie lunged forward. He grabbed a fistful of Jaelynn's hair and yanked her backward.

He threw her hard onto the hardwood floor.

Jaelynn cried out as her palms hit the ground. The sharp shards of broken glass sliced deep into the flesh of her hands.

Jayne didn't jump out of bed to help her daughter. Instead, she sighed loudly. "You're bleeding on the rug, Jaelynn. That rug is expensive."

Jaelynn lay on the floor, staring at the bright red blood welling up in her palms. She looked up at her mother. She finally saw the ugly, selfish truth hiding behind Jayne's beautiful face.

Artie crouched down. He grabbed Jaelynn's jaw, his fingers pressing into her bruised cheek.

"You think the bankruptcy was an accident?" Artie laughed, a cruel, ugly sound. "Your mother and I moved the assets months ago. There is no money left for your precious father."

Jaelynn's eyes widened in horror. The bankruptcy wasn't a market failure. It was a calculated murder of her family's legacy.

Artie pulled his phone out of his pocket. He opened an email and shoved the screen inches from Jaelynn's face.

It was the billing statement from Mount Sinai Hospital. The numbers were astronomical.

"If you don't go to Ortega tomorrow, get on your knees, apologize, and spread your legs for him," Artie whispered maliciously, "I will call the hospital and tell them to pull Garfield's plug."

The anger in Jaelynn's chest vanished, replaced instantly by a suffocating, paralyzing terror. Her father's life was in this monster's hands. Her body began to tremble violently.

Jayne leaned against the headboard, looking down at her daughter.

"Be realistic, Jaelynn," Jayne said, her voice cold and practical. "A woman's body is a tool. Use it to get what you need."

Those words were the final blow. They severed the last string of sanity Jaelynn had left.

She let out a dry, broken laugh.

She didn't shed a single tear. She pushed herself up off the floor, ignoring the glass embedded in her hands.

She stared at the two of them with dead, hollow eyes. She memorized their faces.

Without a word, Jaelynn turned around and walked out of the master bedroom.

She walked down the hall, entered her own bedroom, and locked the door behind her.

She leaned her back against the door and slid down until she hit the floor. She pulled her knees to her chest, buried her face in her arms, and let out a choked, agonizing sob.

She cried for exactly five minutes.

Then, she snapped her head up. Her eyes were red, but the weakness was gone. Only a burning, destructive need for revenge remained.

She crawled over to her bed. She opened her Chanel bag and pulled out the slightly bent, gold-embossed business card.

Dolph Valentine.

She knew he was a monster. She knew he thought she was trash. But he was the only monster big enough to drag Artie and Jayne into hell. She was ready to sell her soul.

Jaelynn grabbed her phone. She looked at the glowing numbers on the clock. She slid the business card under her pillow and lay down in the dark, her mind racing as she planned her hunt for the next day.

The morning sun sliced through the gap in the curtains, stabbing directly into Jaelynn's swollen eyes.

She peeled herself off the cold hardwood floor. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the gold-embossed business card, gripping it tightly.

She picked up her phone and dialed the only person left in the world she trusted: her best friend, Adrianne Burton.

"Adrianne, I need you to find someone's schedule for me today," Jaelynn said, her voice raspy and raw.

Adrianne heard the deadness in her tone. "Jae? What happened? Where are you?"

"I don't have a home anymore," Jaelynn replied flatly.

Adrianne didn't ask any more questions. Using her connections in the Hollywood and New York trust-fund circles, it took Adrianne less than ten minutes to track down Dolph Valentine's private itinerary.

"He's playing tennis at the Hamptons Country Club today," Adrianne told her.

A cold, determined light flashed in Jaelynn's eyes.

She dragged a massive suitcase out of her closet. She didn't pack memories. She packed her most expensive, weaponized clothing and basic necessities. She was erasing herself from this apartment.

When she dragged the heavy suitcase out of her bedroom, Artie was sitting at the dining table, sipping an espresso.

He looked at her suitcase and smirked. "Going to Ortega's hotel? Don't forget to pack your sluttiest lingerie."

Jaelynn didn't even look at him. She slid a pair of dark sunglasses over her eyes, hiding her bruised cheek, and walked straight out the front door.

The heavy door slammed shut, cutting off Artie's toxic presence.

She took an Uber straight to Brooklyn, hauling her suitcase up the narrow stairs to Adrianne's tiny apartment.

The moment Jaelynn took off her coat and sunglasses, Adrianne gasped. She saw the dark purple handprint on Jaelynn's face and the bloody, bandaged cuts on her palms.

Adrianne started cursing Artie with every foul word she knew.

She dragged Jaelynn to the bathroom and pulled out a first-aid kit. While Adrianne cleaned the glass cuts with stinging alcohol, Jaelynn stared blankly at the wall and told her everything. The betrayal, the bankruptcy, the threat to pull her father's life support.

Adrianne pulled Jaelynn into a tight hug. "Whatever you need to do, I'm with you," she whispered.

Jaelynn sat in front of the mirror. She used Adrianne's heavy concealer, carefully dabbing it over the bruise on her cheek until the purple faded into a flawless, fake perfection.

She changed into a white, form-fitting tennis dress. The cut was daring, hugging every curve of her body tightly, leaving her long legs bare. It was armor.

She hugged Adrianne goodbye, rented a nondescript sedan, and merged onto the Long Island Expressway.

Two hours later, the hot midday sun baked the asphalt as Jaelynn parked near the massive wrought-iron gates of the Hamptons Country Club.

She walked up to the entrance. The security guard, recognizing her face but knowing the Grant family's financial ruin, coldly informed her that her membership had been revoked. She was barred from entry.

Jaelynn didn't panic. Her eyes scanned the driveway.

She spotted a familiar silver Porsche rolling toward the gates. It was Benji Mclean, Gordon's playboy best friend.

Jaelynn quickly took off her sunglasses. She walked toward the Porsche, putting on a helpless, sweet smile.

"Benji! My car just broke down. Could you give me a ride inside to find Gordon?" she lied smoothly.

Benji's eyes immediately dropped to the tight white tennis dress. He grinned, unlocking the passenger door. "Hop in, beautiful."

The moment the Porsche parked inside the club's grounds, Jaelynn told Benji she needed to use the restroom. Before he could object, she vanished into the crowd.

Relying on her memory from years of attending events here, she avoided the main security cameras and slipped into the restricted corridors.

She headed straight for the Men's VIP Private Locker Rooms. She remembered the layout from past events and knew the VIP locker rooms were in the west wing. After a tense moment hiding from a patrol, she spotted the Valentine family's insignia discreetly embossed on a heavy mahogany door with gold trim, guarded by a man built like a refrigerator. That had to be Dolph's room.

Jaelynn ducked behind a large potted palm tree. Her palms were sweating. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

Five minutes later, a club attendant pushed a cart full of ice water and fresh towels down the hall. The bodyguard turned his head to inspect the cart.

Now.

Jaelynn took a deep breath. She darted out from behind the tree, moving as silently as a cat. She grabbed the brass handle, twisted it, and slipped inside.

She pushed the door shut and locked it with a soft click.

Her heart was beating so hard she felt it in her throat.

The locker room smelled of expensive cedarwood and rich male cologne. From the back of the room, the sound of running water echoed from the frosted glass shower stalls.

Jaelynn kicked off her high heels. She stepped barefoot onto the heated marble floor, making absolutely no sound.

She walked slowly toward the shower.

The water suddenly stopped.

The frosted glass door swung open. A large, muscular hand pushed it aside.

Dolph Valentine stepped out. His dark hair was dripping wet. He wore nothing but a white towel wrapped low around his waist, his broad chest gleaming with water droplets.

Dolph's hand froze midway through grabbing a smaller towel to dry his hair.

His sharp, predatory eyes dragged down the length of Jaelynn's tight white tennis dress, his dark eyebrows pulling together in a dangerous frown.

Jaelynn didn't look away. She forced her racing heart to steady. She tilted her head, letting a perfectly calculated, seductive smile curve her lips, and took a step forward.

Dolph tossed the towel onto the marble counter.

"How much did you pay my security to get in here?" he demanded, his voice cold and hard, echoing off the tile walls.

Jaelynn let out a soft, breathy laugh. She put her hands behind her back, adopting a playful, careless posture.

"When someone wants to see Mr. Valentine, they always find a way," she said, her tone light and teasing.

She took another step, closing the distance until she was less than two feet away from him. The clean, sharp scent of his body wash wrapped completely around her.

Dolph looked down at her. A cruel, mocking light entered his eyes.

"You are like a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe," he sneered, his words designed to humiliate.

A sharp pain twisted in Jaelynn's chest, but she didn't let her smile drop. Instead, she raised her hand.

Her fingertips lightly traced the hard muscle of his wet chest.

"Since the wildcat last night was so tasteless and boring," she whispered, lowering her voice into a husky purr, "I thought you might want to try a different flavor today."

Dolph's eyes instantly darkened to pitch black.

His hand shot out like lightning. He grabbed her wrist, his fingers digging into her skin so hard she thought the bone might snap.

He shoved her backward. Her spine slammed against the hard wooden door of the lockers.

His massive body pressed into hers, trapping her completely. His chest heaved, his hot breath mixing with hers.

Jaelynn didn't fight him. She lifted her free arm and wrapped it around the back of his neck, pulling her soft body flush against his hard, wet torso.

Dolph's Adam's apple bobbed.

"Playing with fire comes with a price," he warned, his voice dropping to a rough, gravelly whisper. "I won't go easy on you just because you used to sleep with my nephew."

Jaelynn stared straight into his dark eyes.

"The only thing I'm not afraid of right now is the price," she said, enunciating every word. "As long as you give me the protection I want."

That sentence lit the fuse.

Dolph lowered his head and crushed his mouth against hers.

It was a brutal, punishing kiss. It was rougher than the night before. Jaelynn closed her eyes, opening her mouth and kissing him back with a desperate, fiery intensity.

Dolph's large hand grabbed the tie at the waist of her tennis dress, yanking it loose. His rough fingertips slid over the bare skin of her waist, sending violent shivers down her spine.

Just as the heat in the room reached a boiling point, loud voices erupted in the hallway outside.

Someone started pounding on the locker room door.

"Uncle Dolph!" Gordon's voice boomed through the heavy wood. "Open up! I have an emergency regarding the family business!"

Jaelynn's body went completely rigid.

The heat in her veins turned instantly to ice. Pure, suffocating terror gripped her throat. She stared up at Dolph, her eyes wide with panic.

Dolph stopped moving, but he didn't step back. A flash of intense annoyance crossed his face. He lifted his thumb and slowly wiped the moisture from her swollen bottom lip.

Gordon rattled the doorknob violently. Finding it locked, his voice pitched higher. "Is someone in there with you?" he yelled at the bodyguard.

Jaelynn shoved her hands against Dolph's chest, trying to scramble away to find a place to hide.

Dolph's arm clamped around her waist like an iron band, holding her firmly in place.

"Piss off, Gordon," Dolph yelled back, his voice completely calm and steady.

"I can't! We need to talk right now!" Gordon yelled stubbornly, refusing to leave.

Hearing Gordon threaten to break the door down, Dolph let out a dark chuckle. He finally let go of Jaelynn.

He didn't panic. He walked over to the bench and calmly pulled on a pair of dark, tailored suit trousers.

He didn't bother zipping up the fly. He didn't put on a shirt.

Bare-chested, with his pants unzipped, Dolph took long strides toward the door.

Jaelynn slapped her hands over her mouth. She scrambled across the floor on her hands and knees, diving behind a row of tall wooden lockers, hiding in the L-shaped blind spot. She was shaking like a leaf in a hurricane.

Dolph grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.

Gordon and Benji were standing right outside. They both took a step back, intimidated by the dark fury on Dolph's face.

Gordon opened his mouth to speak, but his eyes immediately dropped to Dolph's unzipped trousers. Then, his gaze flicked up to the faint, red scratch marks on Dolph's bare chest.

The air in the hallway died.

Gordon's face went through a rapid, ugly transformation. Shock, embarrassment, and a sick, twisted jealousy warped his features.

Dolph leaned casually against the doorframe. He looked down at his nephew with absolute, crushing arrogance.

"Do you have a fetish for your uncle's private sex life, Gordon?" Dolph asked, his voice dripping with venom.