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.

The midday sun beat down on the red clay, baking the air until it was thick and hard to breathe.

Jaelynn stood at the baseline. She gritted her teeth against the tearing pain in her wrist. She tossed the neon yellow ball awkwardly into the air with her left hand.

She forced her swollen right hand to grip the racket and swing.

The moment the strings hit the ball, a violent, agonizing jolt of pain shot up her arm, straight into her skull.

The ball barely cleared the net, landing weakly out of bounds.

A few people in the stands let out cruel, mocking laughs.

Jaelynn's face was chalk white. Huge drops of cold sweat rolled down her temples, stinging her eyes. But she didn't stop. She bent down to pick up a second ball.

Dolph stood on the opposite side of the court. He didn't move to return the bad serve.

His dark eyes were locked onto her wrist, which was now swollen to the size of a baseball.

He watched her raise the racket again. A sudden, violent surge of anger and frustration exploded in his chest.

Dolph raised his arm and smashed his own racket violently into the red clay.

The loud, aggressive crack silenced the laughter in the stands instantly.

Dolph swept his cold, murderous gaze over the crowd, daring anyone to speak. "Game over," he announced.

Ortega panicked. He thought Dolph was furious at Jaelynn for ruining the match. Ortega jumped up, pointing a fat finger at her. "You useless piece of trash! Look what you did!"

Dolph ignored Ortega completely. He walked straight to the net, his eyes fixed on Jaelynn.

"Come with me," Dolph ordered. It wasn't a request.

Jaelynn blinked, stunned. She dropped the racket.

Under the shocked stares of the entire country club, she dragged her exhausted, aching body and followed Dolph off the court.

They walked in silence through the long, air-conditioned corridors of the club, heading down to the VIP underground parking garage. The silence between them was heavy and suffocating.

Dolph stopped in front of a sleek, black Aston Martin. He pressed a button on his keys, and the headlights flashed in the dim garage.

He pulled open the passenger door. "Get in. I'm taking you to the private clinic down the road to get an X-ray."

Jaelynn stood by the open door. She didn't move.

She knew how this worked. If he took her to the hospital, he would pay the bill, drop her off, and their transaction would be over. She would lose her leverage.

She looked up at his sharp, cold jawline.

Suddenly, she took a large step forward, invading his space. She backed him up until his legs hit the side of the car, trapping him between the open door and her body.

Dolph frowned, his muscles tensing. He opened his mouth to tell her to back off.

Before he could speak, Jaelynn pushed up on her tiptoes. She grabbed the collar of his expensive polo shirt with her good left hand, pulled his head down, and crashed her lips against his.

It was a desperate, messy kiss. She had no technique. Her lips were trembling, tasting of salty sweat and fear.

Dolph's entire body went rigid. His hands instantly came up, gripping her shoulders to push her away.

But as his fingers dug into her skin, he felt how violently she was shaking. He felt her swollen, broken right hand resting weakly against his chest, trying to hold onto him.

His hands stopped pushing.

Jaelynn felt his hesitation. She thought she had failed. A wave of crushing despair washed over her, and she started to pull her lips away.

The second she retreated, Dolph's control snapped.

His large hand slid to the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair. He yanked her back, crushing his mouth down onto hers with terrifying force.

He kissed her like he wanted to devour her. His tongue forced her lips apart, sweeping through her mouth, taking everything.

He pushed her backward until her spine hit the cold metal of the Aston Martin. The freezing car body and his burning hot mouth sent a violent shock through her nervous system.

Dolph's hands slid down her back, gripping her waist. He lifted her slightly off the ground, pressing her body flush against his.

Jaelynn let out a muffled gasp. Her injured right wrist accidentally bumped hard against his solid chest.

Tears of pure physical agony sprang to her eyes.

Feeling her flinch, Dolph ripped his mouth away. He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving.

He looked down at her swollen lips and the tears in her eyes.

"Damn it," he cursed, his voice a raw, gravelly growl in the quiet garage.

He didn't mention the hospital again. A look of self-disgust flashed across his face. Angry at his own loss of control, he grabbed her by the waist, practically throwing her into the passenger seat, and leaned over to buckle her seatbelt.

Dolph walked around the car and slid into the driver's seat. He slammed his hand against the push-to-start button.

The Aston Martin's V12 engine roared to life like an angry beast. The tires screeched against the concrete as the car shot out of the parking garage.

Jaelynn leaned her head back against the leather seat. She looked at Dolph's tight jaw profile. She knew, in that moment, she had successfully torn off his mask of indifference.

The Aston Martin tore down the Long Island Expressway, the engine roaring as Dolph pushed the car well past the speed limit.

The atmosphere inside the leather-lined cabin was suffocating. The air pressure felt heavy enough to crush bone.

Dolph grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were completely white. His jaw was clenched tight. He was using the extreme speed to burn off the terrifying realization that he had lost control and kissed her back.

Jaelynn cradled her throbbing right wrist with her left hand. The silence was unbearable.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice quiet.

Dolph didn't turn his head. A cruel, vicious smirk twisted his lips.

"Do you really think one kiss is going to buy you the protection of the Valentine family?" he mocked, his voice dripping with venom.

He didn't stop there. He took a knife to her deepest insecurities. "You chased Gordon around like a pathetic lapdog for years. Everyone on the Upper East Side knows you're just the bankrupt, broken toy Gordon threw away."

The words hit Jaelynn directly in the chest.

All the blood drained from her face. Her lips trembled. The insult was so precise, so cruel, it felt like he had physically gutted her.

She bit down on the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper, forcing the tears back down her throat.

"I don't care about feelings anymore," Jaelynn fired back, her voice turning to ice. "I only care about money and power."

That sentence seemed to trigger something violent in Dolph.

He slammed his foot on the brake pedal.

The Aston Martin's tires shrieked against the asphalt, leaving thick black marks as the car violently jerked to a halt on the shoulder of the highway.

Dolph unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned across the console. He grabbed her chin, his fingers digging into her jaw.

His eyes were pitch black, filled with a terrifying rage. "If you're selling yourself, don't act like you have any pride left," he snarled.

"You are nothing but a toy to me," Dolph said, his words designed to destroy her. "Something to use to piss Gordon off. When I'm bored of you, I'll throw you in the trash where you belong."

Jaelynn stared straight into his furious eyes. She forced her mouth into a broken, ugly smile.

"As long as the price is right, I'll gladly be your trash," she whispered.

Dolph let go of her face like she burned him. He looked disgusted.

He threw the car back into drive. He didn't speak another word for the rest of the trip. He drove straight into Manhattan and slammed on the brakes outside a random, dirty subway station.

He didn't look at her as she unbuckled her seatbelt and got out.

The moment she closed the door, the Aston Martin sped off, disappearing into the city traffic.

Jaelynn stood alone on the dirty sidewalk. Her legs gave out. She crouched down next to a trash can, buried her face in her good hand, and sobbed silently, her shoulders shaking with the weight of her humiliation.

When the tears stopped, she wiped her face. Her eyes were hard and empty. She knew this was the price of the transaction.

She walked down into the subway and took the train straight to Brooklyn.

She knocked on Adrianne's door. When Adrianne opened it and saw Jaelynn's swollen wrist and exhausted face, she started crying.

Adrianne rushed to the freezer, grabbed a bag of frozen peas, and wrapped it around Jaelynn's wrist.

Sitting on the lumpy, cheap sofa, Jaelynn calmly told Adrianne everything. The kiss, the rejection, the cruel words.

"He's a monster, Jae. You have to stay away from him. We'll find another way. You can get a job," Adrianne pleaded, wiping her eyes.

Jaelynn shook her head. She pulled out her phone and opened the photo of the ICU bill Artie had sent her. "I don't have time to work for a paycheck, Adri."

Jaelynn opened her banking app. She took the last few hundred dollars she had hidden away and transferred it to a cheap moving company. She hired them to go to the Upper East Side penthouse and pack up her room.

"I'm never going back to that house," Jaelynn stated. "I'm done being Artie's victim."

Miles away, in a luxury high-rise in Manhattan, Dolph sat in a dark room.

He stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows, a glass of amber whiskey in his hand. The floor around his chair was littered with cigarette butts.

Boone pushed the door open. He looked at the mess and frowned. "Are you out of your mind, Dolph? Actually messing with Gordon's ex?"

Dolph downed the whiskey in one swallow. The alcohol burned his throat. "I'm just teaching a gold-digger a lesson," he said coldly.

Boone raised an eyebrow. "You almost broke Gordon's arm on the court today. That didn't look like you were just 'teaching her a lesson'."

Dolph slammed the heavy crystal glass down on the table. The sharp crack echoed in the room. "Mind your own business, Boone."

Back in Brooklyn, the movers dumped three cheap cardboard boxes in the middle of Adrianne's living room.

Jaelynn used her left hand to rip the tape open. Inside were a few old books and framed photos of her mother from when she was younger.

Jaelynn picked up the photos. Without a second thought, she threw them directly into the trash can. She was cutting all ties. She was ready for war tomorrow.