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Monday 02 November 2026 06:00:33 GMT
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Title: little smart girl 
Title: little smart girl 
The penthouse had become a strange, suffocating world of its own. Lisa had learned the rhythms of Jennie's moods—the dangerous silences, the unpredictable warmth, the way her eyes would darken when Lisa spoke to anyone else. The piano became her only solace, the only place she could pour out the ache in her chest without consequence. It was a Tuesday evening when Jennie walked in wearing a tailored black dress, her hair swept back, diamonds glinting at her throat. Lisa was at the piano, playing a melancholic Chopin nocturne. She didn't stop when Jennie entered. She had learned that ignoring her was sometimes safer than acknowledging her. Jennie stood by the piano, watching Lisa's fingers dance across the keys. When the piece ended, she clapped slowly.
The penthouse had become a strange, suffocating world of its own. Lisa had learned the rhythms of Jennie's moods—the dangerous silences, the unpredictable warmth, the way her eyes would darken when Lisa spoke to anyone else. The piano became her only solace, the only place she could pour out the ache in her chest without consequence. It was a Tuesday evening when Jennie walked in wearing a tailored black dress, her hair swept back, diamonds glinting at her throat. Lisa was at the piano, playing a melancholic Chopin nocturne. She didn't stop when Jennie entered. She had learned that ignoring her was sometimes safer than acknowledging her. Jennie stood by the piano, watching Lisa's fingers dance across the keys. When the piece ended, she clapped slowly. "Exquisite," Jennie murmured. "You play like you're mourning something." "I am," Lisa said flatly, still not looking up. Jennie circled the piano, trailing her fingers along the polished wood. "I've been thinking about us." Lisa's hands froze on the keys. "There is no 'us.'" Jennie smiled, that cold, beautiful smile that never reached her eyes. "There will be. I've decided we're getting married." Lisa's breath caught. She turned to face Jennie fully for the first time, her expression a mixture of horror and disbelief. "What?" "Married. You. Me. Forever." Jennie said it like she was discussing the weather. "I've already started the arrangements." "You're insane," Lisa whispered. "Completely, utterly insane." Jennie tilted her head, studying Lisa. "Perhaps. But I'm also thorough. And I always get what I want." "I won't marry you," Lisa said, her voice trembling but firm. "You can't force me." Jennie laughed—a soft, chilling sound. "Can't I? Let me explain something to you, Lisa. Your brother Mark is still alive. He's still breathing. Do you know why?" Lisa's blood ran cold. "Don't—" "Because I allow it," Jennie continued, stepping closer. "Every day he wakes up, every breath he takes, it's because I haven't decided otherwise. Now, imagine how quickly that could change if you refuse me." Tears welled in Lisa's eyes. "You're a monster." Jennie reached out and cupped Lisa's face, her touch deceptively gentle. "I'm a monster who loves you. There's a difference." "This isn't love," Lisa choked out. "This is obsession. Control. You don't love me—you love owning me." Jennie's grip tightened slightly. "Perhaps. But the result is the same. You will be mine, Lisa. Completely. Legally. Permanently." She released Lisa and walked to the window, looking out at the city lights. "The wedding will be in three weeks. Small ceremony. Intimate. I've already selected your dress." Lisa sat frozen at the piano, her world crumbling around her. "I won't participate. You can't make me say 'I do.'" Jennie turned, her eyes gleaming with something between malice and adoration. "I can make you do many things. We've established that. But for this... I want you to say it willingly. Or at least, convincingly." "And if I don't?" Jennie's expression hardened. "Then Mark dies. Painfully. And I'll make sure you watch." Lisa let out a sob. "Three weeks," Jennie repeated softly. "Use the time to accept your fate. It'll be easier that way." --- The following days were a whirlwind of preparation that Lisa was forced to witness but not participate in. Florists came. Caterers. A dress designer who measured Lisa with cold, clinical precision while Jennie watched from a chair, sipping champagne. "You're not eating," Jennie observed one evening at dinner. Lisa's plate was untouched. "I'm not hungry." "You need your strength. The wedding is in two weeks." Lisa looked up, her eyes hollow. "Why are you doing this? Really? You could have anyone. Why me?" Jennie set down her fork. For a moment, something flickered in her eyes—something almost vulnerable. "Because you're the only person who has ever looked at me with genuine hatred. No fear. No greed. Just pure, honest loathing. It's... refreshing." "That's sick." — Countination 👇🏻 #jenlisa #fyp #jenlisa_story
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