Chapter 1: The Magnolia Wing’s Secret

In my third year of pretending to be a man and sneaking into the governor’s mansion as a security guard, I somehow ended up entangled with the governor’s favorite companion.

Even as I clocked in for another shift beneath that heavy, historic roof, the lie I wore every day pressed against my skin—a second identity that never let me breathe easy. My only comfort was routine: the coffee tasted like burnt motor oil, and someone had left half a box of stale Dunkin’ donuts on the counter. I’d lace up my scuffed boots before dawn, listen to the old AC rattle through the halls, and try to convince myself I belonged here.

I’d always meant to cut things off clean and disappear for good.

Just one more week, just one more paycheck—I told myself that every night. I kept a battered notebook in my duffel, counting the days until I could finally run. Funny, how we draw lines in the sand, only to blur them for the right person.

But when he secretly held my hand, I caved all over again.

His fingers were warm and certain, making my stomach do slow somersaults. That small touch spoke louder than any midnight confession ever could. I should’ve pulled away. Instead, I squeezed back, just for a second. Long enough to know I was a goner.

And just like that, I timidly committed a crime that could destroy me.

It was the kind of mistake that doesn’t just haunt you—it settles in, sits across from you at breakfast, rides shotgun in your car. There are choices you can’t ever take back, and this was mine.

CHAPTER ONE:

The summer heat was suffocating, but my heart felt like it had dropped into an ice-cold lake.

Sweat pooled under my shirt as I made my rounds, but inside, I was frozen solid—like someone had tossed me in Lake Michigan in February. Even the cicadas seemed to notice, their buzz fading as I paused under the eaves.

Since waking up in this world, I’d always been careful, keeping a low profile and minding my own business.

Silver Hollow was the kind of town that could smell an outsider from three blocks away. I’d perfected the art of blending in: head down, hands in pockets, a polite nod for the regulars but never sticking around long enough for real conversation.

People like me—quiet, decent folks—don’t make trouble. But we’re even more scared of getting dragged into it.

Trouble meant questions. Questions led to paperwork, and that was the last thing I needed. I learned early that sometimes being invisible is the safest way to survive.

When someone pushes my boundaries, I just move the line again. After all, in times like these, life can feel cheap, and if you die unfairly, there’s nowhere to get justice.

No one’s handing out do-overs. Here, you keep your head down and hope you’re still standing when the dust settles. The American dream is just a mirage for some of us.

Yet, of all the mistakes I could have made, I actually fell for the governor’s favorite.

Of all the rules I could have broken, it had to be the most dangerous one. Love wasn’t supposed to be part of the equation.

Everyone in Silver Hollow knows the governor prefers men.

It wasn’t a secret. Small towns run on rumor, and his taste was the sort folks whispered about at the Piggly Wiggly, pretending not to stare. If you passed the Magnolia Wing during the holidays, you’d look away.

He keeps several beautiful men in the Magnolia Wing, each one so striking they looked painted.

Some folks called them the governor’s gallery. The tabloids once ran a grainy photo of them lounging on the east porch, all sun and laughter—like something out of GQ, only more untouchable.

This month, I drew night duty at the Magnolia Wing.

I’d pulled the short straw—again. My supervisor claimed it was to keep the peace, but everyone knew the truth. Nobody wanted the graveyard shift near the governor’s inner circle.

That night, the moon was full. From a distance, I spotted a man by the lily pond, holding a bow and arrow, shooting at the blossoms. Petals scattered and floated on the water.

The whole scene was so strange it felt cinematic. The air smelled like fresh-cut grass and pond algae, and the soft plunk of arrows sent ripples through the quiet. A frog croaked nearby, unfazed by the chaos.

The koi in the pond darted away in fright.

They flashed gold and white, swirling below the surface, panicked. One even leapt out, splashing the bank and soaking my pant leg.

When I first took this job, I was warned not to provoke anyone from the Magnolia Wing.

“Don’t look too long. Don’t speak unless spoken to,” my boss had said, mug paused halfway to his lips. “You piss off the wrong pretty boy, you’ll be on traffic duty in July. Or worse.”

But the lily pond is always tended by the gardener, Natalie Brooks. If the house manager finds the pond like this tomorrow, he won’t punish the man with the bow, but he’ll definitely take it out on Natalie.

Natalie’s kid just started preschool, and she can’t afford to miss a paycheck. I owed her—she brought over homemade apple pie when I first moved in, and even patched my uniform pants without asking for anything in return.

Natalie is my neighbor and has helped me a lot. I couldn’t just watch her lose her job.

The memory of her laugh, warm and unguarded, flashed in my mind. She deserved better than this. I wasn’t about to let her take the fall.

After that man finished venting, I waded into the pond, gathered up all the arrows, and picked out the fallen flowers.

My boots squished with every step as I tried to keep my balance on the slick rocks. The water was cool—a relief from the muggy air. By the time I finished, my hands were covered in silt and bits of broken stem. I wiped my muddy hands on my pants, heart thumping, wishing I could just disappear into the shadows.

After cleaning up for what felt like forever, the pond finally looked decent again.

I knelt by the water’s edge, catching my breath, wishing I could just vanish into the lilies and let the night swallow me whole.

When I climbed out, soaked to the bone, that man was staring straight at me.

He leaned against a willow, arms crossed, lips curled in a smirk that made my heart skip. His eyes glittered—sharp, curious, a little dangerous. The kind of gaze you feel down to your toes.

He suddenly smiled.

There was a challenge in that smile, like he’d been waiting to see what I’d do next. The moonlight caught in his hair, silvering the edges.

“What, are you gonna run to the boss and snitch on me for trashing the lilies?”

His voice was smooth—lazy, almost, but with an edge that said he was used to getting his way. It was the sort of voice you remember long after the conversation ends.

God, he was beautiful. Like a summer storm—wild, unpredictable, and maybe a little dangerous. Just one smile and he could steal your soul.

My face burned; I had to look away. The comparison to a summer storm was right—the kind of beautiful that leaves you breathless.

I blushed and stammered, “N-no, the night air’s chilly. You should head back soon.”

I couldn’t meet his eyes, fumbling for words. The line sounded lame even to my own ears. I shoved my hands in my pockets, hoping he’d just laugh and turn away.

He stared at me, his smile fading, expression going cold. “And who are you? Do you think you have any right to meddle in my business?”

His sudden chill made my stomach drop. He sounded just like the people at the top always do—entitled, untouchable.

He was right, so I turned and left without another word.

There was nothing left to say. I ducked my head and trudged off, boots squelching all the way back to the service entrance.

The next day, I went to the head of security and requested a transfer away from the Magnolia Wing.

No explanation needed—just a request for a change in schedule. The chief raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. It wasn’t the first time someone asked to be reassigned from that part of the house.

I couldn’t afford to provoke him, but at least I could avoid him.

It was self-preservation, plain and simple. My grandma always said, "Don’t poke the bear unless you want to get mauled."

But I never expected that half a month later, I’d run into that man again while on night patrol.

I should’ve known—trouble like his never stays gone for long. Not in this house.