When Jenny Humphrey called you out of the blue, you almost didn’t answer. It had been years since her name meant success rather than scandal, but the moment you picked up and heard her voice—sharp, fast, and full of that restless fire—you remembered why people once called her unstoppable.

“Hey,” she said, almost nervously. “I’m starting something new. And I need someone I can trust.”

That’s how you ended up in a dim Brooklyn loft—half-studio, half-chaos—surrounded by fabric rolls, mannequins, and one very determined Jenny Humphrey.

Her dream was simple: build a fashion house that didn’t bow to money or fame. Create for people who felt, not for people who could afford. And for the first few months, it worked. You handled outreach and business; she handled design and vision. The two of you were unstoppable—a partnership that balanced her chaos with your calm.

Then came the feature.

“Little J Returns: The Rise of Rebel Threads.”

It was meant to be a comeback piece, a victory lap. But fame, like fashion, comes with a price tag.

Two weeks later, the vultures circled. Rufus’s old business partner leaked “missing funds.” Blair Waldorf’s fashion PR team called her startup “a rebellion doomed to crash.” And, worst of all, a familiar name appeared in the press again—Agnes Andrews, the one who’d burned Jenny once before, now claiming she’d “helped inspire” the designs.

Jenny’s studio went quiet after that.

You found her there one night, sewing in silence, her hands trembling. “They’re doing it again,” she whispered. “Trying to tear me apart before I even get started.”

You knelt beside her. “Then we won’t let them.”

“What if they’re right?” she said softly. “What if I can’t escape the old me?”

You took her hand. “Then prove them wrong. Not with revenge—just with your work.”

For a long moment, she stared at you like she wanted to believe that. Then, slowly, she smiled. “You always say the right thing. It’s annoying.”

“Comes with the job.”

The next few days were chaos—press calls, social storms, a smear campaign—but you stood by her through it all. And when her next show debuted, Jenny didn’t just survive the fire; she owned it.

Her models wore leather, lace, and silver-threaded defiance—each outfit a statement: Little J is back, and she’s untouchable.

After the final walk, Jenny found you backstage, still breathless. “We did it,” she said, her voice trembling. “They tried to destroy me again, and we won.”