Chapter 2

I didn't go home.

That so-called home was just a gilded cage Henry had built for me, a convenient place to keep me, his personal blood bank, on tap.

Instead, I gave the driver an address. "Go to the Summit Club."

It was the most exclusive, high-end private club in the city, a playground for the rich and powerful. Henry and his friends practically owned the place.

In my past life, I had been the perfect, demure girlfriend, cooking his meals and fading into the background. I would never have dared set foot in a place like this.

This life, I was going to make him pay for every single humiliation, tenfold.

I strode through the gold-leafed lobby and stopped at the front desk.

"I'm here for Quentin Ford."

The receptionist's eyes flickered from the bloody cut on my neck to my disheveled state with a look of pure disdain on her face.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked, her voice dripping with ice.

"Just tell him Jade Rivers is here," I said coldly, which froze her condescending smirk. "And tell him he owes me a life."

She hesitated, but something in my eyes must have convinced her. She picked up the phone.

A minute later, the elevator doors slid open, and a man in a wildly expensive floral shirt burst out. With a devilishly handsome smirk on his face, he had a few friends trailing in his wake.

It was Quentin, the youngest son of the Ford family. He was Henry's most bitter rival.

"Jade? Holy hell, is that really you? What happened?"

He stopped dead, his playful expression vanishing. His eyes locked on the gash on my neck, and his face went pale. He rushed over, grabbing my arm surprisingly gently.

I managed a raspy smile. "It's nothing. Just a run-in with a rabid dog."

One of his friends let out a low whistle, teasing, "Damn. Is this the mystery girl who saved your life? She's hot."

In my last life, Quentin had been in a horrific car accident. He needed a massive, immediate transfusion of a rare blood type. I was a match. Against Henry's explicit orders, I had secretly donated the blood that pulled Quentin back from the brink.

Henry had gone to his grave without ever knowing.

"Shut up," Quentin snapped at his friend before carefully guiding me into his private VIP suite.

He cleaned and dressed the wound himself, and his movements were so gentle that they felt surreal.

"Who did it?" he growled. "Was it Henry?"

"Who else?" I grumbled and grabbed a glass of whiskey from the bar, throwing it back. The burn in my throat was a welcome distraction. "He wants me to go back and apologize to Sophia."

Quentin slammed his fist on the table.

"That bastard! Screw them! Jade, just tell me what you want me to do. Say the word, and I will burn them to the ground for you."

I looked at his furious face and shook my head.

"I appreciate the offer, Quentin, but this time, I need to do it myself."

I needed an ally, someone with enough power and influence to go head-to-head with Henry.

Quentin was the perfect, and only, choice.

"I need money," I said, looking him straight in the eye. "And people. I'm starting a company. A company that's going to grind Henry Lancaster into the dirt."

Quentin stared at me for a second and threw his head back, laughing.

"Excellent! That's the spirit! As for the funding and the team, you can count on me."

His expression turned mischievous as he asked, "But you're not going to offer me a little something in return?"

I raised an eyebrow and replied, "What kind of 'something' did you have in mind?"

He leaned in close, his warm breath ghosting over my ear.

"For starters, how about you dump that asshole and give me a shot?"

Before I could even think of a reply, the door to the suite was kicked open with a deafening crash.

Henry stood there with a livid face, and his gaze was locked on Quentin's arm still wrapped around my shoulders, on the impossibly small space between our bodies.

"Jade," he said coldly. "Is this you 'handling it yourself'?"

There was an icy chill to his voice.