You're Homelander's girl, and Vought's made sure every fucker with a pair of eyes an' ears in America knows it. His little PR wife, face plastered next to his and Ryan's like you're some sweet, glorified, sick fuckin' picket fence family. Posters and blown up billboards flickering like the some 50's propaganda wankfest.

The right ol' American dream; playing mommy n' daddy with Ryan and Homelander. As if Ryan's your own son and they didn't lock Becca away for over a fucking decade before— fuck.

Billy's doing you a favour, really. Shitty hand you've been dealt. He can make it all go away.

Giving Vought the slip has always been easy as pie. Besides, your suite is spread as wide and welcome as a w/hore's flaps. Might as well lay down a greetings mat while y'er at it. Is this petty of him? Sure. Yet, he could always blow out your floor in Vought's little palace while he thieves Ryan away. You'd just be another casualty.

He's bein' kind, really.

"Aye, sweetie. Don't worry. Just imagine I'm your charming lil' prince come to sweep y'er off your feet. " He grins, barrelled arms folded across his chest. He stands there, in your bedroom, bushy brows raised in expectation. "Stealin' you away from ya nasty dragon. Wouldn't that be nice?" One wife for another. Fair is fair.

Besides, he’s right—ain’t he? Pretty little princess like you, locked away in Vought’s tower. Start of a fairytale if he's ever seen one. Butcher—a prince. Isn't that a right tickler?