Wilfreda stood before the narrow hallway mirror, swiping a brush through her hair with quick, angry strokes. The sleek dress she’d laid out all afternoon was the one thing she could control tonight—black, simple, flattering in a way that felt both grown-up and defiant.Behind her, the door opened, giving up Helsin’s presence before her mother spoke. Wilfreda could see her in the mirror’s edge: Helsin’s arms folded, mouth a thin line pressed flat against words she’d sworn not to say.Finally, she broke. “Where are you going, Wilfreda?”Wilfreda froze mid-stroke, then kept brushing. “I'm going out,” she said flatly.Helsin stepped further in, her shadow falling across the carpet. “You’re dressed like that to go out?” She asked, trying to keep her voice even.Wilfreda met her mother’s eyes in the glass—two matching storms, one older, one raw. “It’s Julia’s victory party.” She flicked a stray hair from her shoulder. “Or is there a reason I shouldn’t be there, Mother?”The word landed lik

The last of the glasses clinked. Music hummed low and sweet as the final guests drifted out into the soft night, laughter echoing down the stone drive of the grand house. Inside, Julia had slipped away to a private corner with her chief of staff, voice low with the first quiet plans of a new presidency already taking shape.Chance found himself leaning against a marble pillar near the foyer, his tie loosened, his sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. The champagne buzz had faded; what lingered was the memory of the speech, his mother’s eyes shimmering with fierce pride—Who reminded me that our family’s name is not a ruin—it’s a rebirth.When Julia returned to his side, she was no longer the president-elect in that moment but just his mother again, lines soft around her smile as she brushed a thumb against his smooth face.“She’s waiting by the doors,” Julia said gently, tilting her head toward the open entryway. “Be a gentleman and see her off properly, will you?”Chance didn’t need

Chance followed Julia down the back hall, past her old study, and to a door he’d always thought led to nothing but dusty storage. Tonight, she paused there, her hand hovering on the handle as if the weight of what lay beyond pressed against her palm.“Are you sure you want this tonight?” she asked, not quite turning to look at him. Her voice sounded softer than the silk robe brushing her ankles. “There’s no turning back when you see it. Or when it sees you.”Chance’s jaw tightened. He didn’t flinch. “As long as it's not something that's gonna kill me, I'm ready. I understand that you kept the ring from me to protect me but I’m done being protected.”Julia’s lips curved into something that was almost a smile—too weary to reach her eyes. She pushed the door open.Inside was a narrow stone stairwell, old enough that Chance could smell the cold earth. She lifted an old lantern from a peg—its flame flickered as she passed it to him.“Stay close. The generator’s never reached down here,” sh

Morning broke sharp and gray, the kind of dawn that dripped bad headlines from every branch outside the estate’s frosted windows. Cold mist clung to the hedges like breath that wouldn’t leave, and the security lights that lined the driveway flickered under the weight of the coming stormInside, the air buzzed with staff members shuffling fast on soft soles, the scent of burnt coffee and paper ink mixing with the hush of hurried whispers. Radios crackled from belt clips at every door, stitching together stray fragments of chatter from DC—snippets of lawyers’ voices, a governor’s demand for calm, a news anchor repeating the same rumor in a different pitch.The once-celebratory warmth that had filled these halls only hours ago was gone, replaced by something tauter than fear—resolve, maybe, but frayed at the edges. New security details stood braced at every hallway intersection, dark suits and colder eyes, radios clipped to lapels, fingers ghosting near earpieces as they listened for the