Chapter 6: The President’s Gift and a Midnight Visitor

The President’s command cannot be disobeyed.

Everyone at the table seemed to hold their breath as I rose.

Savannah looked at me nervously from below.

She caught my eye, worry etched deep, but I gave her a tiny reassuring nod.

Strangely, I suddenly felt not so anxious, only a sense of unfamiliarity.

A strange calm washed over me. For the first time in months, I felt like I was floating above it all, watching someone else's life unfold.

I had walked the road to Daniel Harris many times. From Maple Heights to Silver Hollow, from the wedding car to the honeymoon suite.

Each memory pressed down, heavy as lead—the long drives, the endless ceremonies, the smiles that never quite reached the eyes.

There were also many roads away from him. From Silver Hollow to D.C., from a car into the White House.

Every escape route I'd ever planned came to mind—the back roads, the night trains, the anonymous motels where no one asked questions.

But never had there been a time like today: a few steps up the marble stairs, two people who no longer knew each other, separated by life and death, like stars and the morning sun.

I took those steps slowly, the marble cool beneath my heels. The distance between us was filled with years of silence, of things left unsaid.

Because it was a family dinner, he did not wear the President’s pin, only a dark suit with a subtle eagle embroidery, his aura subdued.

The lack of fanfare made him seem more dangerous, not less. He was just a man, and yet, not just any man.

I lowered my hands and eyes, letting him scrutinize me.

I kept my posture neutral, making myself as small as possible.

He only glanced at me indifferently, as if looking at some stray animal, then took off the agate bead bracelet on his wrist and handed it to me.

He didn't speak, just pressed the cool weight of the bracelet into my palm. The gesture was impersonal, almost businesslike.

He called it a congratulatory gift.

The words felt rehearsed, a script he didn't believe in. But I nodded and murmured thanks.

I accepted it respectfully with both hands, tucked it into my sleeve, and did not look at it again until the dinner was over.

The stone felt heavy, almost burning against my skin. I fought the urge to hurl it away.

Late at night, the music ended and the guests dispersed. The First Lady kept me in the residence, and Savannah escorted me.

The halls were hushed, the only sound Savannah's laughter echoing off polished marble. Outside, the world was a blur of moonlight and distant sirens.

The White House corridors were deep, the bright moon high, illuminating Savannah’s face, full of joy.

She spun in a circle, her heels clicking on the tile. Even the Secret Service at the end of the hall seemed to soften in her presence.

She said she was happy.

She grinned, cheeks flushed. "Abby, I can't remember the last time I felt this lucky."

“Abby, you are my lucky star. Dad has never valued me like today—personally announcing our marriage and giving us so many gifts. Even the First Lady, who is usually so reserved, likes you.”

She squeezed my hand, her gratitude fierce. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

She only called Daniel Harris dad in private. After all, there was no blood relation, and she was not as outstanding as her other siblings. Most of the time, she and Daniel Harris were only President and staff.

She confided this quietly, making sure no one else could overhear. "Most days, I'm just another face in the West Wing—like an intern who never leaves. But tonight, I felt... seen."

At the guest suite door, Savannah’s face was still flushed from wine and excitement, her eyes shining like pearls in the night.

She rocked on her heels, her joy bubbling over. She looked years younger, free of the usual burdens.

Sincere, without any pretense.

Her happiness was so pure it hurt to look at her. I wished, for her sake, I could make it real.

“You said you have a brother lost in Maple Heights. When we get there, we’ll find him. I’ll treat you very, very well, so your brother can trust you to me.”

Her words were a promise she meant with her whole heart, as if love alone could fix everything broken between us.

She said, then she would truly have a family.

It was the first time I saw her hope out loud, as if daring fate to grant her a home.

I thought of my brother, who abandoned his government job to become an outlaw, raised a flag, and dreamed every day of taking down the Harris family, then bringing my body home.

The image flashed—him standing on a makeshift barricade, shouting slogans, believing he could take down the world for my sake. It seemed impossibly far away now.

I awkwardly touched the tip of my nose, not knowing how to respond.

I ducked my head, mumbling something noncommittal. For once, words failed me.

Fortunately, Savannah was tipsy and didn’t insist on any vows. She waved and turned away.

She giggled, waving off my awkwardness. "Don't worry, Abby. We'll figure it all out."

She staggered, and as she turned, was struck by the lush branches of the dogwood tree in the courtyard. I stared in surprise as she grinned at me, a red mark on her cheek.

She brushed off the branches, gave a sheepish wave, and laughed. "Goodnight!"

She walked backward, smiling at me.

The image stuck with me—her backlit by moonlight, red mark blooming on her cheek like the first wild rose of spring.

“It’s... it’s nothing, doesn’t hurt. Go to sleep, I’ll go to the State Department early tomorrow to choose your wedding dress. You love flowers, so I’ll have them embroider all of spring for you.”

She was dreaming aloud, painting futures I couldn't promise. Her voice was soft, almost slurred.

White House wedding attire has its own rules; there’s no such thing as random embroidery.

I smiled and let her have her fantasy. Some dreams are too fragile to correct.

I smiled slightly and watched her light steps fade away, not correcting her tipsy words.

She disappeared around the corner, humming a tune. I watched until the door closed behind her.

After all, it’s all just a dream in the end. Why bother about a moment’s happiness?

I let myself lean into the wall, closing my eyes. For a second, I wished I could believe it was all real.

I turned, dismissed the staff, wearily pushed open the door, removed my hairpin, tossed aside the agate bead bracelet, and took off my jacket. All the luxurious things felt unbearably heavy.

The suite was as grand as a five-star hotel, but the silence was suffocating. I shrugged out of my dress, letting silk puddle on the carpet. The agate bracelet clattered onto the vanity, forgotten.

Fingers reaching for my skirt tie, I stepped toward the bathroom, suddenly paused, and stared stiffly at the wall flickering with candle shadows.

A shiver ran up my spine. I caught a glimpse of movement—a shadow that didn't belong.

On the white wall, there was a thin shadow in front, and another behind. Silent, I didn’t know how long it had been there.

I squinted into the half-light, heart pounding.

I turned around abruptly.

My breath caught as I spun, every muscle tensed to run.

A haggard man leaned against the window, moonlight casting half his face in eerie, mottled light.

He looked like something out of a Southern gothic novel—sharp lines, haunted eyes, skin pale in the moonbeam slicing through the curtains.

A hoarse, damaged voice.

The sound was raw, familiar, as if it had been scraped by too many cigarettes and too many nights awake.

Once it had startled me countless times, but now it was calm, like a snake slowly gliding out from the dusk.

His words slithered through the dark, calm and slow, as if nothing in the world could touch him.

“Jane, how’s the face I got for you? Does it work well?”

The old name stung like a slap. My knees nearly buckled.