'WHY.'
The word detonated somewhere inside Jenny's chest with no warning and no exit.
'WHY.'
She'd planned this. Carefully. Every detail, every contact, every favor called in. Jake had sourced the drug. She had arranged the occasion. She had chosen the target—her stepsister, that ungrateful black-haired bitch who always ended up with more than she deserved, just by existing in rooms that should've been Jenny's.
She'd wanted Thalia broken. Ruined. The kind of ruined that didn't wash off.
Instead—
'Instead.'
The fleet was still pulling into the driveway. The Rolls-Royces, the Range Rovers, the bodyguards whose suits cost more than Jenny's car, the quiet command of men who didn't need to announce their authority because they simply had it. And stepping out of the lead car, with a dress that hugged her curves and sunglasses she wore like armor and her chin at that infuriating angle—
Thalia.
