After shopping, they returned to Jenna’s home—a sprawling mini-mansion bathed in gold and white. Porcelain floors gleamed beneath towering statues. Everything was pristine. Untouched. Perfect.
Staff moved quietly, anticipating every need, hovering just enough to remind anyone watching—
This was a house where problems didn’t linger.
They disappeared.
Jenna didn’t knock.
She never did.
The double doors to her father’s study were already open, warm amber light spilling into the hallway. The room smelled like leather, cigars, and something metallic beneath it all—power. Her heels echoed against the marble as she walked in, slow and deliberate, like she owned the air itself.
Her father sat behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, gold watch catching the light. Papers spread neatly in front of him. Calm. Unbothered. A man who decided the fate of others before breakfast.
He didn’t look up right away.
“Daddy,” Jenna said, dragging the word just enough to sound sweet. Dangerous people always sounded sweet first.
That got his attention.
He leaned back in his chair, eyes lifting to her face. “Whatis it now, Jenna?”
She moved closer, resting her manicured hands on the edge of his desk, leaning in as if sharing a secret. Her lips curved—not a smile, not quite.
“There’s a woman,” she said. “And she’s becoming a problem.”
Her father studied her in silence. He’d learned long ago that when Jenna came to him like this, it wasn’t drama.
It was a request.
“A tattoo artist,” Jenna continued casually. “Small-town famous. Everyone loves her. Fundraisers. Charity events. Articles written about how kind and strong she is.”
She rolled her eyes, straightening. “Disgusting.”
He exhaled slowly through his nose. “And why is this my concern?”
Jenna’s expression hardened.
“Because Izzy won’t let her go.”
The name landed heavy.
“She thinks she’s important,” Jenna snapped, pacing now. “She thinks because people admire her, because she has a little spotlight, that she’s untouchable. That she can stand in my way.”
She turned back to him sharply. “I want her gone.”
Silence.
Not shock. Not hesitation.
Just silence.
Her father’s fingers tapped once against the desk. “Gone how?”
Jenna didn’t flinch.
“I don’t care,” she said flatly. “Her career. Her shop. Her reputation. Her sense of safety. Pick one. Pick all. I’m tired of seeing her name. I’m tired of hearing people talk about her like she matters more than me.”
