Outside, Helsin pushed through the heavy glass doors and into the rain. It spattered cold against her face, soaking through the thin wool of her coat in seconds. She didn’t bother with her umbrella. She needed the cold. Needed it to bite at her skin and shock her back into focus.The street outside Julia’s headquarters was a mess of blinking brake lights and news vans prowling for a scrap of scandal before morning. Helsin kept her head down as she crossed to her car—a battered old sedan that looked out of place parked among sleek campaign SUVs.Inside, she sat for a long moment, hands resting on the wheel, engine off, watching her own breath fog the windshield.She could still feel Wilfreda’s voice from the night before—sharp and hurt and unyielding. That girl, so stubbornly righteous, so hungry for a truth Helsin had buried so deep she’d almost convinced herself it could stay there forever.But not anymore.Not after tonight. Not after seeing Julia standing defiant under all that ruin

Senator Norville’s private suite gleamed under the bruised blue glow of five muted flat screens. The ticker crawled across each one—counties turning red, Julia’s name flickering just behind his by numbers too close for comfort but just wide enough to fan the fire in his chest.Roney Bashan sprawled in an overstuffed armchair like a man who’d never been told “no.” His sleek phone buzzed every few minutes with back-channel updates—county clerks bribed with silent promises, local judges tipped off about which box to count twice and which to lose altogether.Two junior aides lingered at the minibar like eager pups, uncorking a bottle of French champagne Norville had kept hidden for exactly this moment—though he wasn’t fool enough to celebrate it yet. Not until he’d seen Julia Banks’ name buried under legal challenges so deep she’d never claw her way out.Norville hunched over the largest screen, one hand braced on the slick marble bar as if the entire country’s fate rested under his weddin

The roar inside Julia’s headquarters was a living thing—louder than the hum of the giant screens, louder than the thrum of rain still pelting the windows outside.It started as a stunned hush when Oklahoma flashed blue on the final projection, then a whoop from the back corner that came out wild. The entire room surged to its feet like a single breath released after hours of holding it in.Julia stood dead center under the biggest monitor, her hands pressed flat to the table, as if bracing herself against the world tipping on its axis as the screen flashed again: Julia Banks — Elected President of the United States.It was real, and she wasn't dreaming.Julia’s breath caught—something between a laugh and a sob ripped through her chest before she could stop it. Her hand flew to her mouth as her knees buckled just slightly. If Gary hadn’t caught her elbow she might have sunk to the floor right there, her tears mixing with the echo of shouts that rattled every cheap fluorescent light in t

Chance was half-listening to a junior advisor walk him through the evening’s guest list as they prepared for Julia's victory party when his phone buzzed, and it was the anonymous caller from Tuscany.He excused himself, ducking into a dim back corridor that still smelled faintly of stale coffee and sweat from election night. The second he answered, the noise around him fell away.“Hello?” Chance said, voice taut but calm.There was a pause—a soft crackle of wind or maybe traffic on the other end. Then the voice, low and familiar like a ghost Chance hadn’t asked for.“You’re celebrating, aren’t you, O’Connor’s boy?”Chance’s breath stalled. His eyes darted back toward the open door, where the staff bustled on, oblivious. “Where the hell have you been? I've been expecting your call.”The caller chuckled—a dry rasp that sounded older tonight, wearier but no less sharp. “Somewhere I know we can now meet and talk. I guess you’re ready now, aren’t you? Ready to know the real truth about the

Inside the sprawling ballroom, Julia stood near the head table, her face alight in a way even the cameras couldn’t quite capture. For once, the lines around her eyes were from laughter, not worry.Chance lingered at her side, one hand resting on the back of her chair as he murmured quiet asides only she could hear—words that pulled low chuckles from her throat between handshakes and photo ops with well-wishers.Gary, red-cheeked from champagne and handshakes, floated nearby too, a constant source of rib-cracking jokes and protective nudges that kept the older donors entertained and the newer aides wide-eyed.When the MC tapped the mic at the front of the stage, the hum of the room settled to a hush. The quartet fell quiet. All eyes turned to the woman who’d just rewritten a page of history.“Ladies and gentlemen,” the MC beamed, voice echoing over the hush. “Tonight, we celebrate more than a victory. We celebrate the woman who showed us it could be done. The first female President of t