Chapter 7

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.