Chapter 1: The Midnight Corridor

Nobody at Fairview Heights knows what happens after midnight. Every night, I’m hustled through a secret hallway—straight to the President’s private quarters in the White House.

My shoes scuffed against the runner, the lemon polish stinging my nose, and every shadow made my skin prickle. The air was heavy with secrets, so different from the faded grandeur of my family’s estate. I’d slip past portraits of presidents, my heart pounding—half-invisible, half-exposed with every step.

Eventually, exhaustion gave way to frustration. I asked for a title.

Luke Harrison paused, holding my hand. "The First Lady is pregnant. Just wait a little longer."

His grip was gentle but unyielding, like the hush that settles over the West Wing after midnight. The scent of his cologne—fresh, expensive, impossibly distant—lingered on his shirt.

I closed my eyes, thinking of Aunt Linda. Everyone says she’s the most favored woman in the East Wing, and it’s true.

Aunt Linda’s voice drifted through the house like the scent of her Chanel No. 5: soft, but never uncertain. She always knew how to calm nerves and win hearts. Her place in the household was as solid as the American flag on the front porch.

When I returned to the estate, Aunt Linda held a monogrammed handkerchief, her initials stitched in blue—a family tradition. She told me, "I’ve picked a marriage for you, honey. General Peter Shaw. What do you say?"

Her words fell heavy, like the first snow on the old magnolia out front.

After a moment of silence, I nodded. But inside, my heart slammed against my ribs. This wasn’t a choice—it was surrender.

"I will marry," I said, my voice quiet. In that echoing foyer, it sounded like a verdict. Somewhere, a clock chimed, reminding me how little control I had left over my own fate.