Jana cooed.
"No more cameras, little one," Allison whispered, kissing Jana’s forehead. "No more followers. No more likes. Just us."
Marcus laughed. "You think you can protect her? I have millions of followers across my burner accounts. I can make Jana famous overnight. Or I can make your past famous again. Your choice."
"Baby Jana. The viral sensation. The little girl who laughs at thunderstorms and refuses to eat pureed peas. Every parenting blog, every influencer network—they want her. And I know you’re her nanny. So let’s make a deal. You get Jana to sign with my agency, and I forget about those old photos I still have." Baby Jana Pt8 -Ex Webe Model Allison-
Jana smiled. It was the kind of smile that didn’t need a filter.
Jana, sensing the tension, began to whimper.
Allison stiffened. She wasn’t expecting anyone. Peeking through the peephole, her blood ran cold. It was him . Marcus. The photographer who had leaked her private content three years ago, the man who had nearly destroyed her career. He looked older, thinner, but his smile was the same snake-oil grin. Jana cooed
Allison’s mind raced. Marcus didn’t know the truth. He thought she was just the nanny. He had no idea that Jana was her daughter—adopted after her own life fell apart, the one pure thing she had built from the ashes of her old identity.
The doorbell rang.
And for the first time in years, Allison believed she deserved it. No more likes
"It is when you’re on parole for cyberstalking," Allison said, her voice steady. She cradled Jana closer. "Goodbye, Marcus."
"I know you’re in there, Allison," he called through the wood. "Relax. I’m not here for you. I’m here for the baby."
And then something unexpected happened. Allison’s phone—her new phone, the one with no ties to her old life—lit up. It was a video call from an unknown number. She answered on instinct.
Marcus’s grin vanished. He looked down at his jacket pocket—a hidden recorder. "That’s… that’s not admissible."