But I can’t help smiling to myself, happy that the old Gracie is back. The ball of energy that whizzes through life, barely taking a breath.
In my life, I’ve faced scarier and bigger monsters than Chase Knight.
He can go to hell and kiss my ass on the way there.
Chapter three
Chase
Thwack.My fist connects with the trainer’s mitt, the satisfying sting reverberating through my knuckles. I shift my stance, bouncing lightly on the balls of my feet, my muscles coiled, ready for the next strike. Sweat slides down my temple, dripping off my jawline before landing on the floor in rhythm with my movements. Every inch of my body is taut, sculpted from years of relentless discipline. This isn’t just about staying in shape—it’s survival. The streets of Brooklyn taught me that when I was a kid. Fighting wasn’t a sport; it was a necessity. Now, I keep it up for a different reason. Staying in peak physical condition isn’t just about the job; it’s about control. Discipline. When you’ve clawed your way out, that mentality sticks with you. You don’t get soft. Not ever.
“Focus,” my trainer snaps, slapping the mitts together. “You’re slow today.”
He’s not wrong. My reaction time is off, and my jabs lack their usual precision. I throw a hook, more out of frustration than skill, and miss the mitt entirely.
“Again,” he barks.
I exhale sharply, resetting my stance. Usually, I pride myself on my cold, unshakable focus. Drama doesn’t touch me—never has. I handle boardroom battles with the same detachment I bring to the ring. And I always sleep like a baby. Always.
Not last night.
Last night, for the first time in years, I tossed and turned, frustration gnawing at my sanity. After hours of staring at the ceiling, I gave up. Poured myself a generous glass of Macallan—vintage, of course—and scrolled through my phone considering distractions; names of women who’d love nothing more than to soothe my frustrations.
But even that idea couldn’t shake the demon on my shoulder.
Thwack.A cross lands hard, sending a satisfying vibration up my arm. But the wildfire still burns in the back of my mind.Her.The most infuriating woman I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet. Young. Bold. Uncontainable. She’s chaos personified, unflinching, even in the face of danger.
I know that fire too well. I’ve stared it down in the mirror every damn day of my life.
My cell rings from the far side of the gym. I ignore it and throw another combination, the crack of impact echoing through the gym. The damn phone cuts off, then rings almost immediately. Either it’s urgent, or the person on the other end has a death wish. Groaning with impatience, I snatch a towel and wipe the perspiration from my face and chest.
“Let’s call it a day,” I grunt. “We’re almost done, anyway. We’ll start at five tomorrow morning instead of five-thirty. I’ve got a breakfast meeting.”
“Tomorrow, bring your focus,” Clarke, my trainer, says, throwing the mitts into the clean-up basket.
“Yes, Clarke. You don’t have to remind me twice,” I gripe. “I don’t pay you to whine at me like I bitch.”
“Woah, someone got out of bed on the wrong side this morning.” Clarke slides under the ropes and hops out of the ring, brushing off my foul mood. Clarke and I go back years, so he’s used to my harsh tongue. He’s the closest thing to a therapist I’ll ever have. Every hook and jab he absorbs tells a different story.
My irritating ringtone resumes, and I snatch it off the window ledge, Austen’s name filling the lit screen. He knows I always use this time to work out, so it must be important.
“Yes, Aust...” I bark. I’ve barely got the greeting out before he cuts me off. “Did you fire Violet Harper yesterday?” The tone of his voice suggests I’ve just unleashed Armageddon, not turfed out some irrelevant junior employee who’s here to make up the numbers.
“Who?” I say, as if I didn’t spend all night fantasizing about throwing her over my desk and punishing her for every word of defiance.
“Violet Harper,” he repeats, impatience in his tone. “She is a junior software developer. She’s been working on the cyber security project for Monarch Global Bank.”
Dammit, why the fuck is that hellion working on the most critical contract we’re hoping to land? One that’s worth millions of dollars.
If anyone but Austen dared to question my judgment, the call would’ve been cut off by now. But Austen is different. He’s the single most important person in my life, the one I trust without hesitation.
We met at Stanford, forming an unlikely alliance. He was the tech genius—quirky, eccentric, and so defiantly individual that no frat would dare claim him. I was the money-hungry upstart,the one who reminded those silver-spooned frat boys that all the connections and privilege in the world wouldn’t protect them from someone hungrier, someone willing to outwork and outwit them at every turn.
We terrified their comfortable little bubble, so naturally, we gravitated toward each other.
After a few years in finance, tearing companies apart and squeezing every ounce of profit from their ruins, I wanted something more. I wanted to build instead of destroy. That’s when I looked at Austen’s fledgling tech start-up and saw its potential. With the right direction and my financial backing, it wasn’t just a good idea, but the foundation for a future empire.
I knew it then, and I know it now: Austen’s brilliance and my vision are unstoppable.
