Chapter 3

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.