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.

The first set ended.

Dolph tossed his racket to a waiting ball boy without looking. He walked off the red clay court toward the shaded seating area, grabbing an ice-cold towel to wipe the sweat from the back of his neck.

His best friend, Boone Morgan, walked over and handed him a bottle of water. Boone's eyes swept over the crowd of wealthy spectators with a knowing smirk.

"Where's your date today, Dolph?" Boone teased, leaning against the fence. "Did the 'wildcat' from last night drain all your energy?"

Dolph took a long drink of water. His cold eyes drifted over to where Jaelynn was standing, currently having her waist gripped by Ortega.

"I came alone," Dolph said, his voice flat and loud enough to carry.

Ortega heard him. The fat investor's eyes lit up. He saw the ultimate opportunity to suck up to the billionaire.

Ortega stood up. He grabbed Jaelynn by the wrist and dragged her like a piece of luggage over to where Dolph was standing.

"Mr. Valentine!" Ortega smiled, his face greasy with sweat. "If you need a doubles partner to pass the time, please, borrow my girl. She plays well."

Ortega was offering Jaelynn up like a rented toy.

The surrounding trust-fund kids and businessmen heard the offer. A wave of low, dirty laughter rippled through the crowd. Everyone looked at Jaelynn like she was a cheap escort.

All the blood drained from Jaelynn's face. A wave of humiliation so thick she could barely breathe crashed over her.

She bit down hard on her lower lip, tasting blood again. But she didn't pull her arm away.

She knew this was her only chance to get back onto Dolph's radar in public. She had to prove she was useful.

Dolph didn't answer immediately. His dark, heavy gaze locked onto Jaelynn's pale, trembling face. He stared at her for three agonizing seconds.

Then, he casually raised an eyebrow. A silent permission.

Ortega beamed with joy. He shoved a spare tennis racket into Jaelynn's chest and pushed her hard between the shoulder blades. "Get on the court!"

Jaelynn stumbled forward. She gripped the handle of the racket, took a deep breath, and forced her stiff legs to walk out onto the baking hot red clay.

Just as her foot crossed the baseline, a violent figure burst out from the spectator stands.

It was Gordon.

His eyes were bloodshot. He was holding the white tennis jacket with the embroidered "J" in his fist, looking like a rabid dog.

Gordon marched right up to Jaelynn and threw the jacket violently into her face.

"You filthy whore!" Gordon hissed, his voice trembling with rage. "You're sleeping with everyone now?"

The entire tennis court went dead silent. The crowd watched in shock. Boone let out a low whistle, clearly enjoying the drama.

The metal zipper of the jacket scratched Jaelynn's cheek. She pulled the fabric away from her face and stared at her ex-fiancé. Her eyes were completely dead, devoid of any warmth.

"We broke off the engagement, Gordon," Jaelynn said, her voice eerily calm. "Who I play tennis with, or who I sleep with, is none of your business."

Her cold indifference shattered Gordon's fragile ego.

He lunged forward. His large hand clamped down on Jaelynn's right wrist-the hand holding the racket.

"I'm going to make you crawl back to me on your knees," Gordon snarled, squeezing her wrist with all his strength.

Jaelynn gasped in pain. She tried to yank her arm back.

She felt more than heard a sickening pop in her wrist. A white-hot, agonizing, blinding pain shot up her arm and straight into her brain. Her face turned the color of ash. Cold sweat instantly broke out across her forehead.

Gordon raised his other hand, ready to hit her.

"Let her go."

The voice came from the other side of the net. It was freezing cold, dripping with lethal authority.

Dolph stood there, holding his racket in one hand. His eyes were fixed on Gordon, radiating a terrifying, oppressive aura that silenced the entire court.

Gordon froze. He looked at his uncle's eyes and felt a primal fear. He slowly uncurled his fingers, dropping Jaelynn's wrist. He glared at her one last time before turning and storming off the court.

Jaelynn's right arm fell limply to her side. The racket dropped onto the clay. Her wrist was already swelling, turning a dark, ugly purple.

Ortega didn't ask if she was okay. He threw his hands up in the air. "You're ruining the mood! You're ruining Mr. Valentine's game!" he yelled at her.

Jaelynn ignored him. She reached over with her left hand and grabbed her injured right wrist, squeezing it to stop the shaking.

She bent down, using her awkward left hand to pick up the heavy racket.

She stood up straight. She looked across the net, locking eyes with Dolph.

"I can still play," she said. Her voice shook, but the words were crystal clear.