Stella Laurent's eyes widened as she listened to Jenna Roland's plan. "This is brilliant! You've got them completely trapped!"

Jenna backed up the voice recording and handed the phone back to Stella. "Don't celebrate yet. Those people would do anything for money."

She knew her relatives too well—they'd sell their dignity for a quick buck.

The most important thing now was keeping Milo in the dark.

Patrick Klein pushed the door open. "Jenna, the guest in VIP 309 requested you specifically."

"Regular?" Jenna asked casually.

"New face." Patrick wiped his brow. "Everyone else is busy, so you're our only option."

"Got it." Jenna adjusted her collar and headed straight for the private room.

Patrick turned to Stella. "Heard someone came looking for trouble with Jenna?"

Stella nodded. "Her cousin and his wife. Security kicked them out."

Patrick hummed thoughtfully before walking away.

——

At 3:30 AM, Jenna dragged her exhausted body home.

The living room was empty—Milo must already be asleep in his room.

She pushed open her bedroom door to find Ethan Roscente sprawled across her bed again.

Great. Another night on the floor.

After washing up, Jenna pulled spare bedding from the closet and collapsed onto the makeshift bed.

——

The next morning, Ethan opened his eyes to see Jenna curled up on the floor.

At least she knew her place.

He freshened up, changed clothes, and headed for the door.

Milo intercepted him in the living room with a bowl of plain noodle soup. "Mr. Roscente, I made breakfast—"

"No." Ethan brushed past without a backward glance.

The slam of the front door made Milo's stomach twist.

Had Jenna upset him again? Yesterday he'd eaten the noodles she cooked—why the sudden cold shoulder?

Whatever. More for him.

Milo polished off two bowls until his stomach protested.

After cleaning the kitchen, he started a pot of soup for Jenna.

As he grabbed his backpack for school, his phone buzzed with an unknown number.

The text froze him in place:

"Your sister works as an escort at Studio 54. See for yourself."

His trembling fingers dialed the number—disconnected.

Legs wobbling, he stared at the master bedroom door.

But Jenna said she worked night shifts at the convenience store...