Chapter 6

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.