Chapter Two

JADE

The roar of the 800-horsepower V8 engine vibrated through my spine as I slammed the gearshift forward, sending the matte-black Nissan GT-R drifting sideways around the sharp hairpin turn of the abandoned industrial docks. Smoke spewed from the rear tires, the screech of rubber against concrete echoing into the damp night air.

I straightened the wheel, stomping on the accelerator as I crossed the makeshift finish line, beating the red Supra behind me by three full car lengths.

The crowd of street racers, gamblers, and half-naked party girls went wild, their cheers swallowed by the heavy bass thumping from the speakers mounted on the bed of a nearby pickup truck. I threw the car into park, killed the engine, and kicked the driver’s side door open.

"Another twenty grand in the bag, Neil!" my mechanic, Marcus, shouted over the music, tossing me a cold bottle of beer as I stepped out into the night air.

I caught it with one hand, taking a deep swig, the cold alcohol burning down my throat. My leather jacket smelled like gasoline and burning rubber, just the way I liked it. No silk ties. No boardrooms. No fake smiles.

"Who's next?" I called out, leaning back against the warm hood of my car, scanning the flashing neon lights of the crowd. "Someone bring out a driver who actually knows how to handle a clutch."

Before anyone could answer, a sleek black Mercedes Maybach pulled straight into the center of the racing floor, its high beams blinding the crowd. The music cut out instantly. The rowdy street racers fell silent, recognizing the bulletproof VIP plates immediately.

My father’s head of security, a towering man named Vance, stepped out of the back seat. He wore a sharp black suit, his hand resting casually over his holster as he walked straight toward me.

"Mr. Neil," Vance said, stopping two feet away. "Your father requires your presence at the estate immediately."

I rolled my eyes, taking another swig of beer. "Tell the old man I'm busy. I’ve got three more races lined up tonight."

"It isn't a request, Jade," Vance said, his voice dropping into a low, serious register. "The O’Connell deal was finalized an hour ago. You need to come home."

The name O’Connell struck a nerve. The rival family that my father had spent the last twenty years trying to crush.

"What does their deal have to do with me?" I scoffed, tossing my empty beer bottle into a nearby trash can. "He wants me to sign off on some tech transfer? Send it to my lawyers."

"It's not a tech transfer," Vance said flatly. "It's a marriage contract. And your presence is mandatory."

A silence descended over the docks. A few girls in the crowd giggled nervously, but I just stared at Vance, waiting for the punchline. When his stone face didn't break, a sudden, burning heat flared in the pit of my stomach.

"Say that again," I muttered, taking a step toward him, my hands clenching into fists.

"Your father traded a thirty percent stake in the northern docks for a marital alliance with Marcus O’Connell’s eldest daughter," Vance revealed, unblinking. "Her name is Madison. The wedding is in seven days."

A harsh, bitter laugh erupted from my chest. "A wedding? He thinks he can lock me down to some spoiled, sheltered heiress? Is the old man out of his mind?!"

"He said if you aren't in his office in thirty minutes, he freezes your accounts, revokes your access to the racing garage, and strips your name from the Neil holdings," Vance replied calmly. "You know he’ll do it."

I slammed my fist against the roof of my car, the metal denting beneath the force of the impact. The sound echoed like a gunshot through the silent docks.

They wanted to put a leash on me. They thought they could take a wild, lawless fuckboy like me and strap him into a tuxedo, pairing me up with some pristine, fragile little princess who probably cried if her tea wasn't served at the right temperature.

"Madison O’Connell," I spat out, the name bitter on my tongue.

I pictured her, some stiff, brainwashed high-society doll who probably spent her days shopping for designer bags and playing the dutiful daughter. The kind of girl who thought the world revolved around country clubs and family legacies.

"Tell my father I’m coming," I hissed, my eyes narrowing as I grabbed my jacket and threw myself back into the driver’s seat.

I slammed the door, revved the engine until the rev-limiter screamed, and tore out of the docks, leaving a cloud of burning rubber behind.

If my father and the O’Connells thought they were trapping me in a domestic fairytale, they had another thing coming. I was going to turn this fake marriage into a living hell. I’d make that pristine little heiress regret ever agreeing to wear my last name.

She wanted a Neil? I was going to give her a nightmare.