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.

Night fell over New York City, bringing a violent storm with it.

Gale-force winds howled through the streets, driving heavy sheets of rain against the thin, rattling windows of Adrianne's Brooklyn apartment.

Jaelynn sat slumped on the cheap sofa. Adrianne had just finished wrapping her swollen wrist tightly in an Ace bandage. They were sitting on the floor, sharing a greasy box of cheap takeout pizza.

"I'm going to his corporate headquarters tomorrow," Jaelynn said quietly, chewing on a piece of crust. "I'm going to wait in the lobby until he sees me. I'll force him to make a deal."

Before Adrianne could answer, the cell phone sitting on the wobbly coffee table started vibrating violently.

The screen lit up. The caller ID read: Mount Sinai Hospital - ICU.

Jaelynn's heart completely stopped.

Her hand jerked, dropping her pizza onto the rug. She scrambled forward on her knees and snatched the phone off the table.

"Hello?" she answered, her voice shaking.

"We need to do an emergency craniotomy," the on-call neurosurgeon, Dr. Evans said urgently. "But Arthur Howard came in this afternoon. He presented a power of attorney document that we are legally obligated to follow. He signed a Do Not Resuscitate order and froze the medical payment accounts."

"No!" Jaelynn screamed.

"We're doing everything we can, but his situation is critical. I need your consent to proceed immediately," the doctor finished. Suddenly, another voice came on the line. "Ms. Grant, this is hospital administration. I'm sorry to bother you at this time, but we need to sort out the payment authorization to proceed with the surgery. Mr. Howard has put a hold on the account, and hospital policy requires a hundred-thousand-dollar surgical deposit to override his legal block."

The line went dead.

Jaelynn stared at the black screen. All the blood drained from her body.

She didn't think. She acted on pure, animal instinct. She grabbed her coat off the chair and ran for the door.

"Jae! What's wrong?" Adrianne yelled in panic.

"My dad is dying," Jaelynn choked out, throwing the door open and running out into the storm.

The Brooklyn streets were flooded. The wind whipped the freezing rain into her face like tiny needles.

She pulled out her phone. Her fingers were numb from the cold and shaking so violently she could barely unlock the screen. She opened the Uber app, hitting the request button over and over.

The loading circle spun endlessly. No drivers were accepting rides in this weather.

Jaelynn shoved the phone into her pocket. She ran down the sidewalk, her boots splashing through deep puddles, desperately looking for a yellow cab.

A massive delivery truck sped past her, hitting a pothole. A wave of freezing, oily mud splashed over her, soaking her clothes to the skin.

Her foot slipped on the slick pavement.

She crashed hard onto the concrete. Her knees scraped against the rough ground, tearing her skin. Blood mixed with the dirty rain washing down her legs.

The sheer hopelessness of it all crushed her. Jaelynn lay in the puddle and let out a raw, agonizing scream that was swallowed by the thunder.

But she couldn't stop.

She gritted her teeth, using her good left hand to push her bruised, soaked body off the ground.

She limped forward, running like a zombie through three more blocks of pouring rain.

Finally, she saw an off-duty black car. She threw herself in front of it. The driver slammed on the brakes.

Jaelynn ripped the door open. She pulled every crumpled dollar bill she had out of her pocket and threw it at the driver. "Mount Sinai Hospital. Manhattan. Now. Please!" she sobbed.

The car sped through the flooded streets. Jaelynn sat shivering in the backseat, her eyes glued to the clock on the dashboard. Every minute felt like a knife twisting in her gut.

The car screeched to a halt outside the emergency room entrance.

Jaelynn didn't even close the door. She sprinted into the blindingly bright hospital lobby. She was completely soaked, covered in mud and blood, looking like a madwoman.

She shoved past the security guards, ignoring their shouts, and threw herself into the elevator.

When the doors opened on the ICU floor, chaos greeted her.

A team of nurses was sprinting down the hall, pushing a hospital bed toward the surgical wing.

Lying on the bed was Garfield. His skin was gray. The machines attached to him were screaming a continuous, flatline alarm.

"Dad!" Jaelynn shrieked. She lunged forward, grabbing his freezing, lifeless hand.

Dr. Evans and a hospital administrator stepped in front of her, blocking her path. Dr. Evans held a clipboard with a surgical consent form, while the administrator held a massive bill attached to it.

"We are prepped and ready, but my hands are tied legally," Dr. Evans said, his face tight with professional stress. The administrator stepped forward, devoid of empathy. "Ten minutes, Ms. Grant. If the deposit isn't paid in ten minutes to override Mr. Howard's power of attorney, we stop the prep."

Jaelynn stared at the astronomical number printed on the paper.

The pain in her broken wrist, the freezing cold of her wet clothes, and the absolute despair in her heart reached a breaking point.

Her pride shattered into dust.

She slowly reached into her soaked coat pocket. Her trembling fingers pulled out the gold-embossed business card. The paper was wet, but the name was still perfectly clear.

Dolph Valentine.