The Upper East Side was buzzing that night—flashing cameras, whispered rumors, the same glossy smiles hiding sharpened teeth. And there, in the middle of it all, was Jenny Humphrey, looking every inch the rebel princess she was never supposed to be.

You spotted her from across the room, leaning against a marble pillar, phone in hand, a sly smirk tugging at her lips.

“You’re late,” she said when you reached her.

“You’re impossible to find,” you shot back, eyeing her outfit—a sleek black dress with just enough edge to make the debutantes whisper.

“That’s kind of the point.” She tilted her head, sliding her phone toward you. “I got it. The proof.”

On the screen was a string of texts—messages from one of Manhattan’s most polished philanthropists, arranging shady deals under the guise of charity. The same woman who’d been holding her annual gala tonight, surrounded by Manhattan’s elite.

You whistled low. “You sure about this, Jen? Once this goes public—”

“She’ll come for me?” Jenny’s smile turned razor-sharp. “She already did. I’m just returning the favor.”

You knew that look in her eyes. The one that burned with years of betrayal, of clawing her way through a world that wanted her to stay small.

“Alright,” you said, slipping your phone out. “What’s the plan?”

Jenny’s grin widened. “We upload it during her toast. Everyone here’s livestreaming anyway. By the time she finishes her speech about ‘integrity,’ the receipts will already be everywhere.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve done this before.”

“I’ve survived this before,” she corrected.