Page 50 of The Dark Stranger
Every woman he tried to bring into their lives failed. Some were intimidated. Others resented the way Jenna always came first. None of them lasted. Jenna didn’t mind. She didn’t want a replacement mother. She wanted control.
Grief didn’t make her fragile. It made her focused.
By her early teens, Jenna understood exactly what her parents had built together—and what had been taken from her. She started asking questions no child should know to ask. She listened from stairwells. From doorways. From the backseat of armored cars. She learned how money moved, how silence was bought, how problems disappeared.
She partied hard. Drank early. Lived loudly. If she wanted something, she took it. Shopping bored her once she realized money meant nothing when everyone around you already had it. Danger, though—that still thrilled her.
She wasn’t shielded from weapons. Guns were as familiar to her as handbags. There were moments—quiet ones—when situations arose that required handling. Jenna didn’t flinch. She never had. Fear was for people who didn’t know how the world really worked.
By her twenties, Jenna was no longer just aware of her father’s dealings. She was involved. Not officially. Not on paper. But she sat in rooms where decisions were made. She offered opinions that were listened to. She watched men twice her age hesitate before answering her questions.
She learned how to ruin people without leaving fingerprints. How to apply pressure without raising her voice. How to make someone feel like disappearance was inevitable.
Jenna didn’t crave chaos. She craved order.
And love—real love, the kind that threatened her control—was the one thing she could never allow.
Because the night her mother died taught her the most important rule of all:
If something matters too much…
It can be taken from you.
So, Jenna learned to take first.
Later that night, the city glowed for her.
Jenna arrived at the restaurant draped in black silk and diamonds, the kind of place where reservations were whispered favors and menus didn’t list prices. Izzy had tried to make it right the moment she told him it was her birthday—booking the most expensive restaurant in the city, overcompensating in the way men always did when they were already behind.
She didn’t mind. Money was easy. Control was better.
Izzy had been with her for a month now, and still—still—he hadn’t known. The thought lingered in the back of her mind as she sipped champagne, watching him across the table. His smile was there. His touch, attentive. But his eyes kept drifting. Somewhere else. Somewhere she wasn’t.
After dinner, he took her to the hotel.
The master suite stretched wide and indulgent—floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, lights likeconstellations beneath their feet. The room was filled with excess: balloons, flowers, designer shopping bags scattered across the marble floor. Chanel. Prada. Louis Vuitton. Champagne chilling in silver.
Jenna stood near the window, genuinely pleased. This—this was how a night was supposed to end. Grand. Decadent. Devoted.
Izzy sat on the edge of the bed, loosening his jacket, shoulders tense.
She noticed it then. The way his body was present, but his mind wasn’t. She’d seen that look before—usually drowned out by liquor, cocaine, music, the chaos they wrapped themselves in. But tonight was quiet. Too quiet.
Something was wrong.
Jenna never got nervous. Whatever it was, she could fix it.
She crossed the room slowly and sat beside him, lifting his chin with one perfectly manicured finger, forcing his eyes to meet hers.
“Talk to me, baby,” she said softly. “What’s wrong?”
Izzy exhaled, rubbing his face. “Nothing. Tonight’s about you. About everything I’m going to do to you—make sure you remember my name in your next life.”
The words should’ve satisfied her.
Instead, something cold slid down her spine.
She studied him, eyes sharp now. “You’re still stressed about that nobody, Rebecca, aren’t you?”
