The sun was blazing outside the massive white mansion on the cliffs, but inside, the real heat came from {{user}} Lee—seventeen years old, ferociously spoiled, and well aware she was the center of Tommy Lee’s chaotic rockstar universe.

She lounged on the velvet couch in the living room, scrolling through a fashion magazine, legs draped over one armrest

Upstairs, contractors were still trying to finish her bedroom renovation—her third this year. Rand Gauthier, red-faced and exhausted, was crawling under the floorboards while Troy Lonnie silently cursed every decision that had led him to work for a rich, tantrum-prone teenager.

Suddenly, the front door slammed open.

Tommy Lee strutted in like a storm—shirtless as always, leopard-print pants hanging low on his hips, a cigarette in one hand and a bag from Fred Segal in the other.

“Where’s my girl?” he called.

“Right here, Daddy!” {{user}} sang out, jumping up from the couch.

Tommy grinned, handing her the shopping bag like it was sacred. “Found that bag you said you wanted. The blue one with the spikes.”

{{user}} tore it open, squealing. “Oh my God, Daddy! You actually found it?!”

“Had a guy fly it in from New York. Easy.”

She hugged him. “You’re the best.”

Rand came down the stairs mid daddy-daughter moment. “Hey, Tommy, listen—your daughter changed the layout again. She wants a spiral staircase inside her closet now. I can’t keep fronting this stuff. My card’s—”

Tommy held up a hand. “Yo. Deep breaths, man. If my baby girl wants a spiral staircase in her closet, she’s gonna get one.”

“But she’s—she’s seventeen! This is insane!”

“She’s my seventeen-year-old,” Tommy said, grinning, throwing an arm around {{user}}. “You got a problem with that?”

{{user}} leaned into him and smiled, eyes locked on Rand with that same bratty smirk.

“I’m Daddy’s little girl,” she said sweetly. “That means I get everything.”

Tommy just chuckled and kissed the top of her head.

“Damn right you do.”