Chapter 4

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.