Hearing the question, a slow, dangerous smile curved Loxley's lips.
"What I always do," he drawled, in a low and cutting voice. "I'll control the narrative. If she thinks she can crawl out of some dandy's bed and suddenly dazzle the world with cheap parlor tricks, she's in for the shock of her life."
Then, without warning, the mirth vanished. His expression sharpened like broken glass as he straightened to his full height.
"Dig up everything on her," he ordered coldly. "And if it isn't enough—Create more. I don't care how. I'm willing to bet you won't even need to look that hard. After all, she's the infamous 'seventh daughter of Jezebel.'"
Curling his lips, he continued, "By the time the convention arrives, Luxe Plaza won't be known as a mall—it'll be remembered as a scandal. A disgrace branded by Shantel Hale's name."
The assistant hesitated. His fingers twitched nervously around his notepad before he finally spoke. "But sir… there's something you should know."
