She stared at the document in her hands, feeling like she'd just heard the biggest joke of her life.
"Me?" She pointed at her own nose, her voice pitching up in disbelief. "Acting CEO? Ashley, have you lost your damn mind? Last year I was crawling around Hell's Kitchen for two hundred bucks, tailing cheating husbands. And now you want me running a company worth hundreds of billions?"
Ashley calmly pulled out a tissue and dabbed at the whiskey splashed across her designer Chanel suit, her expression perfectly composed.
"It's not me asking you to run it. It's him," she said coolly. "This is his order. Black and white. Signed. Take a closer look."
"I'm not doing it." Jessica shoved the file back across the table. "I can't. I don't even know how to use Excel properly. I'm going back to my apartment to sleep."
"You're free to refuse," Ashley replied icily. "But are you willing to watch everything he built collapse overnight? To watch S.H.I.E.L.D. or the military swoop in and carve Vought up? To see those kids who trusted Homelander—kids with dreams—dragged off to black sites and turned into lab experiments?"
Jessica fell silent.
She remembered the last thing Antony had shouted as the rainbow light swallowed him whole.
'Watch the house for me!'
"…God damn it." Jessica squeezed her eyes shut in pain and drained the rest of her whiskey in one gulp. "I hate responsibility. I really do."
She grabbed the document and signed her name without even reading it, the pen nearly tearing through the paper.
"A wise decision, Ms. Jones," Ashley said at once, slipping back into her flawless professional smile. "Shall we issue your first executive directive?"
"First directive…" Jessica jabbed a finger at the in-flight screen displaying her promotional photo—her in a white suit, bold letters underneath:
QUEEN JONES
"Change that stupid name."
"I'm not 'Queen Jones.' It sounds like a washed-up drag performer from Vegas."
"What would you prefer?" Ashley asked.
Jessica looked down at the amber liquid swirling in her glass. She thought about Hell's Kitchen—the alleys, the neon lights that sometimes shimmered like gemstones in the dark. In a world built on lies and packaging, she wanted something… real. Even if it was small.
"Jewel," she said quietly.
"Jewel."
"It sounds like I sell necklaces, but at least…" she scoffed softly, "…I chose it myself."
"Jewel…" Ashley's eyes lit up instantly. "Retro. Approachable. We can rebrand you as the people's hero!" Her fingers flew across her keyboard. "I'll have PR replace all online materials within the hour. The message will be: A queen rules—but a jewel protects."
"I don't mean to insult Mr. Starr," Ashley added briskly, "but his naming sense is… questionable."
"Oh, thank God," Jessica snorted. "So you noticed too."
The two women exchanged a grin—an unexpected spark of camaraderie.
-----
Meanwhile, far away in Asgard…
Antony lay sprawled across a ridiculously luxurious bed, lazily tossing a golden apple into the air while contemplating the meaning of existence.
Suddenly—
Ding!
"System Notification: Detected change in 'Seven' team member data."
"Member 'Queen Jones' has been renamed to — 'Jewel.'"
Antony froze mid-catch.
Thud.
The golden apple smacked him square in the forehead.
"…What the hell?"
He stared at the system panel, at that painfully cute, painfully un-Homelander name, and felt his aesthetic sense take catastrophic damage.
"Jewel?!"
"That sounds like an over-the-hill disco idol from the '80s dancing under a mirror ball!"
"Jessica Jones, you tasteless brat! 'Queen' was powerful! Majestic! And you changed it to something this sugary? What are you trying to do, sell Barbie dolls?!"
He paced the room furiously, grinding his teeth.
"When I get back… I swear, I'm putting you over my knee and spanking you until you change it back!"
-----
New York — Vought Tower, CEO Office
Jessica sat behind Antony's massive executive desk, feeling completely out of place. The chair was too big. Too soft. Like it might swallow her whole.
"Ashley," Jessica rubbed her temples. "What's the most urgent problem right now?"
Ashley stood opposite her, arms full of files, firing off answers like a machine gun.
"Three things. First: calming the board. I've scheduled a video call—you just need to show up and keep that 'I might kill someone' look. They respond well to it."
"Second: the media. Official line is that Homelander is executing a classified, national-security-level space mission. The White House is cooperating—President Ellis already tweeted."
"Third…" Ashley hesitated, clearly uneasy. "The biggest problem: Who Is the Next Superhero?"
"What about it?" Jessica frowned. "Keep it running."
"It's not that simple." Ashley sighed. "The show's core draw is Homelander. Mentor. Judge. Ratings god. Without him, sponsors are nervous. Viewership projections are tanking. And those top-100 contestants? A lot of them are volatile. Without Homelander holding the room, things could spiral."
Jessica leaned back. "So send me. I'm Jewel and Acting CEO."
"With all respect, Jessica…" Ashley chose her words carefully. "Your star power… isn't enough. You're dangerous, sure—but you don't dominate a room like he does."
"We need legends."
"Legends?" Jessica scoffed. "Like who? Hulk? So he can smash the studio?"
"No." Ashley tapped the screen.
Two images appeared.
One man with a red-white-and-blue shield, eyes resolute.
Another in red-and-gold armor, smirking like the world was his joke.
"Captain America, Steve Rogers.Iron Man, Tony Stark."
Ashley's eyes gleamed. "With them—and you—we form a Three-Titan Mentor Panel. Ratings would explode."
"You're insane," Jessica muttered. "They're Avengers. Tony would love nothing more than to turn Vought Tower into a public restroom. And Steve hates performative nonsense."
"Which is exactly why you're the one who has to ask." Ashley gestured to the desk. "You're Homelander's most trusted person. And right now—you're the one in charge."
"You'll have to learn," Ashley said softly, "how to trade resources for resources."
Jessica stared at the two faces on the screen for a long time.
"…Prep the car."
--------------
T/N:
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