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.

Dolph's cold question hung in the air like a guillotine.

Gordon's face turned a sickly shade of pale, then flushed bright red. He quickly lowered his eyes, unable to meet his uncle's dominant stare.

"I... I'm sorry, Uncle Dolph. I didn't know," Gordon stammered, his voice trembling. He grabbed Benji by the arm and practically ran down the hallway to escape the suffocating pressure.

Dolph watched them leave. Once the hallway was empty, he stepped back and slammed the heavy door shut.

He turned around.

Jaelynn slowly stood up from behind the lockers. Her back was soaked in cold sweat. She leaned against the wood paneling, gasping for air as if she had just survived a drowning.

Dolph calmly reached down and pulled up the zipper of his trousers. He walked over to her, raising his hand.

He pinched her chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing her to look up at him.

"This kind of cheap trick only works once," he warned, his eyes narrowing into dangerous slits.

Jaelynn's stomach churned with humiliation, but she gritted her teeth. "As long as it works, once is enough."

Dolph scoffed. He dropped his hand, turning away from her in disgust.

He walked over to his jacket, pulled a sleek, black American Express Centurion card from his wallet, and tossed it at her.

The heavy metal card hit her bare collarbone and clattered onto the floor.

"Get out," Dolph ordered, his voice devoid of any emotion. "And don't ever show your face in front of me again."

Jaelynn stared at the black card on the floor. She didn't bend down to pick it up. If she took the money, the transaction was over. She would just be a high-priced prostitute. She needed his power, not a one-time payout.

She took a deep breath. She smoothed down the wrinkles in her white tennis dress, straightened her spine, and walked past him. She opened the door and left without saying a single word.

Meanwhile, out in the main lobby, Gordon was pacing. His mind was racing. Something felt wrong. He remembered a faint, sweet smell lingering in the hallway outside the locker room.

Chanel No. 5.

It was Jaelynn's signature scent.

Gordon stopped pacing. His eyes turned dark and vicious. He spun around and marched back toward the VIP locker room hallway.

When Gordon turned the corner, the hallway was empty. But his eyes immediately locked onto a piece of clothing draped over a leather bench outside Dolph's door.

It was a white women's tennis jacket.

Gordon walked over and snatched it up. He checked the collar. Embroidered in gold thread on the tag was the letter "J".

Gordon's pupils contracted. The veins in his forehead bulged against his skin.

He finally realized who the woman hiding in his uncle's room was.

A violent, sickening wave of betrayal and jealousy crashed over him. He threw the jacket onto the floor, stomping on it. He swore to make that shameless bitch pay.

On the other side of the club, Jaelynn slipped out a side door and walked toward the main pathways.

Her phone suddenly vibrated violently in her pocket. It was a text from Artie.

She opened it. It was a photo of the heart monitor in her father's ICU room. The numbers were dangerously erratic.

Beneath the photo was a message: Ortega is waiting for you at the outdoor tennis courts. Don't make him wait.

Jaelynn stared at the jagged green lines of her father's heartbeat. Her throat tightened. She had no way out. She forced her legs to move, walking toward the outdoor courts.

The midday sun was blinding. The courts were surrounded by New York's elite, sitting under white umbrellas.

Jaelynn immediately spotted Ortega. The fat, balding investor was sitting in a prime seat.

When Ortega saw her walking toward him in the tight dress, a disgusting, greedy light ignited in his eyes. He waved his hand, yelling at her to come pour his drink.

Jaelynn fought down the urge to vomit. She walked over to his table.

As she reached for the pitcher of water, she froze.

Walking onto the red clay court, dressed in pristine white athletic gear, was Dolph Valentine.

What shocked her even more was Ortega's reaction.

The ruthless Wall Street shark, who held her father's life in his hands, instantly jumped up from his chair. Ortega practically ran to the edge of the court, bowing and smiling like an obedient dog.

Ortega grabbed a fresh towel and offered it to Dolph, kissing up to him with sickening desperation.

Jaelynn stood frozen. She watched Dolph completely ignore Ortega. Dolph didn't even look at the man.

In that split second, Jaelynn truly understood the terrifying hierarchy of power. Artie was terrified of Ortega. Ortega was terrified of Dolph.

If she could chain herself to Dolph, Artie and Ortega would be nothing but insects to be crushed.

This realization hardened the ice in her veins. She would not let Dolph go. Even if it destroyed her.

Ortega, embarrassed by Dolph's rejection, walked back to the table. To regain his pathetic sense of dominance, he reached out and squeezed Jaelynn's thigh, hard.

Jaelynn gasped, the pain sharp and sudden. Her hand twitched, wanting to slap him across the face.

But the image of the heart monitor flashed in her mind.

She forced her hand down. She dug her fingernails into her own palms, breaking the skin again. She forced a stiff, dead smile onto her face and poured the water.

Out on the court, Dolph swung his racket.

As he followed through, his dark eyes flicked toward the umbrellas. He saw Ortega's hand on Jaelynn's leg. He saw her swallow her pride and endure it.

Dolph's grip on his racket tightened. A sudden, inexplicable surge of irritation flared in his chest.