Chapter 6: The President’s Mask

When we entered the White House, the First Lady wasn’t there. The Second Son took us directly to the Oval Office. The corridors were hushed, walls lined with oil paintings and the faint smell of lemon wax. I kept my eyes down, counting my steps to stay calm.

The air in the Oval Office was cool and dry, the kind of place where secrets stuck to the walls. Luke Harrison was writing—behind the famous desk, pen moving steadily over a stack of documents. Sunlight caught in his hair, turning it gold at the edges. He looked every inch the President—poised, powerful, utterly in control.

In his thirties, he didn’t look old. The way he wielded his pen was full of authority. In the solemn Oval Office, he appeared dignified and cold. Even the air felt different—charged with the weight of history and secrets I was never meant to know.

"Your son brings his wife and companion to greet Father." The Second Son knelt directly. His knees hit the rug with a soft thud. Tradition dies hard, even in Washington.

Luke Harrison responded with an indifferent "Mm" and didn’t look up. He kept writing, the scratch of his pen the only acknowledgment. I watched his face for a flicker of emotion, but there was nothing.

Seeing the legitimate sister too scared to speak, the Second Son nudged her with his elbow. She started, nearly losing her balance. The pearls in her hair shook with the movement.

The legitimate sister cautiously spoke. "Your daughter, Lillian Song, greets Father." Her voice was quiet but clear. She curtsied, her eyes flicking nervously from the desk to the window.

Luke Harrison’s pen paused. He looked up at her. For a moment, the room felt colder. He studied her face, his expression unreadable. Putting down the pen, he came around with interest. "You’re the legitimate daughter of the Song family. Don’t you have several half-sisters?"

He spoke slowly, his gaze sweeping the room as if searching for a hidden answer. The legitimate sister’s breathing slowed. "Yes, Father, I have three half-sisters. The third sister accompanied me as a companion to the Second Son’s house and came this time as well."

She gestured at me, her hand trembling just a little. As she spoke, she turned back and quietly called me, "Quick, pay your respects."

Her voice was sharp, urgent—a reminder of my place. Luke Harrison was slightly stunned, his tone a bit strange. "Third sister? Wasn’t it the fourth girl?" He frowned, confusion flickering across his face. His eyes locked onto mine, searching for something only he and I understood.

As he spoke, his gaze fell on me. His stare was a silent question, heavy and inescapable. Urged by the legitimate sister, I looked at him deeply. I squared my shoulders, meeting his eyes with all the dignity I could muster. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it.

I saw his body instantly stiffen, his pupils trembling with fear. I calmly curtsied, enunciating each word: "This companion, Quinn Song, greets you, Mr. President."

The words hung between us, heavy with meaning. My knees trembled, but my voice never wavered.

His incredulous voice sounded above me: "You’re saying you married my son?" For the first time, the President’s mask slipped. And for the first time, I wasn’t the one afraid.