Chapter 1

Jenna Flynn POV:

I pushed open the heavy wooden door of the W Boston penthouse suite without knocking. A draft of early winter air rushed in from the cracked floor-to-ceiling window, carrying the sour stench of spilled champagne and cheap cedar cologne.

My eyes passed over the Boston rookie hockey jersey tangled on the carpet and locked onto the muscular man scrambling to pull the duvet over his bare waist. Gary Mitchell—my boyfriend of six years, the NHL rookie defenseman I had practically carried through college—froze.

"Jenna? Listen to me, this was an accident..."

Gary raked a hand through his messy light-brown hair, panic flashing in his gray-blue eyes. He tried to sit up, but a manicured hand pressed flat against his chest.

Keri Koch leaned against his bare shoulder, tossing her blonde waves over her collarbone so I had a clear view of the fresh red marks on her skin.

"Drop the act, Gary."

I took two steps forward, my heels sinking into the plush wool rug.

"Your accidents are always as scheduled as the league's road trips."

Gary's face stiffened, his panic morphing into cornered irritation.

"Fine. Since you saw it, I'll be straight with you. Keri is back, and I can't let her down."

"I don't mind your past with him, Jenna," Keri said, her voice sugary as she traced her red nails down Gary's arm. "After all, you were just a placeholder while he was at rock bottom."

Bile rose in the back of my throat. I curled my fingers into my palms until the drafting callus on my right middle finger pressed hard against my skin, forcing my breathing to stay steady.

"A placeholder?"

I walked to the mahogany bar, picked up the half-empty bottle of Dom Pérignon, and tilted it toward the light.

"Six years. From a rink rat who couldn't afford a carbon-fiber stick to a first-round NHL rookie."

Gary flinched back half an inch before puffing out his chest.

"I'll compensate you. Name your price, take the money, and get out of my life."

I set the bottle down with a sharp clink against the marble, pulled a Montblanc pen from my purse, and tore a sheet from the hotel notepad.

"Since Young Master Mitchell is feeling generous, let's settle six years of PR management, tutoring, and emotional labor all at once."

I wrote down a figure and slapped the note onto the nightstand in front of him.

Gary glanced down, his pupils shrinking.

"Twenty-five million dollars? Jenna, have you lost your mind? Why don't you just rob a bank!"

Keri gasped, covering her mouth with a mocking laugh.

"God, Gary, I told you she was a total gold digger. She must be desperate."

"With your new endorsement deals and rookie contract, this is pocket change," I said, looking down at him without blinking. "Or would you prefer I send the records of your underground sports betting straight to the NHL Morality Committee?"

The blood drained from Gary's face. His hand shook as he pointed a finger at me.

"You... you kept copies?"

"Write the check, or wait for a league suspension."

I leaned in and shoved the pen between his stiff fingers.

"Pick one."

Gritting his teeth, Gary grabbed his checkbook from the drawer and scrawled the numbers across the paper. I plucked the check from his fingers, verified the signature, and folded it neatly into my Dior wallet.

"A bitch and a dog. May you two rot together."

I snapped my bag shut, walked out, and slammed the heavy oak door behind me, cutting off Keri's shrill scream.

Walking briskly down the carpeted hallway toward the elevators, the tight band around my ribs finally loosened. I pressed the down button, watching my pale face in the polished steel doors before stepping inside.

As the elevator dropped, I pulled my vibrating phone from my coat pocket. Over a dozen texts from my mother, Fannye, lit up the screen.

"Jenna, your brother found a house and needs two hundred grand for the down payment. Get it from Gary and wire it today!"

Another voice-to-text message popped up right below it.

"He's a Mitchell! That money is nothing to him. Stop being so selfish and only thinking about yourself!"

A cold chill crawled up my spine. Leaning against the steel wall, I typed back quickly.

"Gary and I broke up. Don't ask me for money again."

Two seconds later, Fannye's reply flashed across the screen.

"Broke up? Are you insane! What about your brother's mortgage? Are you trying to kill us?"

My lips curved into a flat line. I opened her contact page and tapped "Block this Caller."

The elevator chimed on the ground floor. I stepped through the revolving doors into the freezing Boston wind and climbed into the back of a waiting Uber, giving the driver the address to my studio apartment.

Resting my head against the cold window glass, I kept my hand over the wallet holding my twenty-five-million-dollar fresh start.

My phone screen lit up again with a text from an unknown number.

"Heard you're single again. Perhaps we should talk. -Hughes Mitchell."