2025-11-09 02:58:24After being released from detention, Eric’s first job was to clean Room 3B, which was Carter Brooks’ quarters.
Carter was the president’s personal bouncer. A man built like Hulk Hogan and Dwayne Johnson in one body. His hands were big enough to crack ribs with a handshake, and he didn’t even talk much.
Everyone wondered why the President kept him so close.
Eric knocked once, lightly.
No response. He slowly opened the door and walked in.
“Hello? Housekeeping.”
On the far side of the room were two figures pressed closely and locked in an intimate, forbidden kiss.
Eric froze. His heart did a double kick in his chest.
It was the First Lady, Hillary Tate, wrapped in Carter’s massive arms, one heel already kicked off on the rug.
The kiss broke as her eyes snapped to Eric, wide with alarm. Carter’s head jerked up like a wolf interrupted mid-feast.
“What the hell?!” Carter’s voice boomed like a riot shield slamming down.
Eric instinctively stepped back; hands raised.
“Sir…ma'am…”
“Are you damn stupid!?”
“I knocked! Twice! I swear.”
“Are you out of your mind!?”
“I... I thought the room was empty. There was no reply…”
“That doesn’t mean come in!” Carter advanced two steps, his body blocking half the room like a shadow cast by a mountain. “Who gave you clearance to clean this room today?”
“I follow the schedule. It’s routine.”
“You’re a fool, a big bubonic fool with water in place of a brain,” Carter growled.
“I saw nothing, Sir,” Eric repeated, voice calm but dry. “Just a bed that needs making.”
Hillary narrowed her gaze. “If anyone hears of this, you're dead!”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“And I mean corpse dead…if you say anything to anybody,” Hillary warned. “Even to your co-workers.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Eric said dryly, his stare was still solid.
Carter turned and lit a cigarette, then he faced the first lady.
“So, when are you going to tell your dear husband the truth?”
Hillary’s brows narrowed. “What truth?”
Carter tilted his head. “That Quentin’s not his daughter. That she’s mine.”
The silence dropped like glass on marble.
Eric stood still, his cloth pausing mid-wipe.
Hillary’s face tightened. “Watch your mouth.”
“I’m tired of hiding it,” Carter muttered, walking to the window. “She’s a mess because you made her one, drugged up, wild, looking for something she’ll never get from either of us. She deserves to know who her real father is.”
“Like father, like daughter,” Hillary mocked. “We both know where she got her drug addiction from.”
Carter turned at her. “Ohh.. And you're the saint in all of these, right?”
Hillary looked him straight in the eye. “Look, I as much as protect her from you. You're never fit to be a father, not in this life, not in the next.”
“Rubbish!... Blood is blood! Take it or leave it.” Carter roared.
Hillary rose, slowly, like a cobra ready to strike. “And if you so much as whisper that again in public, I’ll personally make sure your criminal record goes public with it. You think you’re untouchable? Think again, Carter.”
He turned, smiling coldly. “Blackmail? That’s your move? Hillary, I’ve eaten sharks bigger than you for breakfast.”
“You’re a hired dog in a suit.”
Eric almost laughed, but Carter’s eyes swung to him. “Hey! Move your lazy ass before I put a bullet through your skull.”
Eric turned calmly and smiled. “Of course, sir.”
He bent low at the wardrobe, opening it to wipe the bottom edge, and that’s when he noticed it. A strange glint. His fingers brushed against a seam—a hidden panel sealed with an electronic lock.
Interesting.
He carried on, tucking that little discovery into the back of his mind.
Just then, Carter's phone beeped and he picked it up. The message read:
THE FRONTIERS — “WE ARE THRILLED TO OFFER YOU A FEATURE SPOT IN OUR ELITE FRONT COVER EDITION. PLEASE BE PRESENT FOR YOUR PROFILE PUBLICATION. 23 HEME CLOSE.”
Carter hissed. “Tch…stupid tabloid crap,” he muttered. “What’s a 'Frontiers’ anyway?”
He flung the phone onto the bed and resumed smoking.
Eric watched as the First Lady lay on the bed, the sheets barely covering her. One leg draped off the side, silk robe hanging open.
“Come back to bed, Carter,” she said, voice like melted wine. “Ignore the noise.”
But then Carter’s phone pinged again.
He frowned, picked it up. The same sender, but a new message:
THE FRONTIERS — “NEW OFFER: $200,000 UPFRONT FOR EXCLUSIVE STORY AND COVER SHOOT. LOCATION OPTIONAL. PAYMENT GUARANTEED.”
Carter blinked, then smiled.
“Fifty grand? Now you’re talking.”
He grabbed his jeans and started dressing in a rush, mumbling under his breath, “Broke-ass bouncers don’t turn down Two Hundred thousand. Not even for a Whitehouse hoe.”
Hillary frowned, sitting up, robe falling shut. “What the hell, Carter?”
“I gotta go,” he pulled a black hoodie over his bulky body. “I need to run a quick job, pay is good.”
She stood up, annoyed. “I’m lying here ready for you and you’re running off for a damn interview?”
Carter zipped up. “It’s Two Hundred grand. Your husband doesn’t pay me that much to babysit a house of liars.”
From his corner, Eric wiped the floor slowly, careful not to smirk. The Frontiers was one of his company, and he was the one who just sent the proposal to Carter in a bid to get him out of the Whitehouse.
A perfect lure for a man like Carter. Big ego, low impulse and high greed.
“Eric,” Hillary snapped, grabbing her handbag. “Escort me out.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Perfect. Eric tried not to smile.
She walked ahead; Carter followed after, while Eric tried to tag along.
“Don’t mess up my room,” he turned, barking at Eric. “When you return, I want that wardrobe polished so well I can see my jawline in it.”
Eric gave him a nod. “Of course, sir.”
And just as Eric and the first lady rounded the corner, nemesis came face to face with them. She wore a silky top-down gown which swirls like glory in a whirlwind – Felicia Haywale, President Tate's mistress.
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Chapter 10
Security breach! I repeat, Whitehouse compromised!”“Secure the President!”“Find the first family, now!”Eric knew there and then that the bloody Vigilante had attacked. Bastards weren't patient enough to let him deliver the gold to them as agreed.Now, Security Service agents in black suits raced down marble corridors, shouting into radios as the presidential compound, once a fortress, was now a nest of chaos.Eric ran. “GET IN!”A voice called out from the shadow of a revving van, and without thinking, Eric lunged inside, slamming the door shut as the truck screeched off like it was late for a delivery.Behind the wheel was Quentin Tate. Face lit with fury and cigarettes. A baseball cap pulled low over her wild hair.The main gate to the Whitehouse began closing, but they were out before the steel gate clapped shut with a CLANG, and theysped off into the night.Eric finally spoke. “Why did you save me?”“Didn’t do it for you.”“Then why?”“Because I want you to die by my hands.” A
Chapter 9
Eric’s breathing was shallow, nearly silent. The steel lock glared at him, reinforced and encoded with dual biometric encryption. One wrong move, just one, and the internal alarm automatically alerts the Presidential Security Unit. He rolled back his sleeves, sweat lining his brow. He had already made two failed attempts and was now left with one last chance.His first attempt was rushed. The second is overly cautious. He had thirty seconds to analyse the tumblers. Else…He inserted the pick, closed his eyes, and listened.Click… pause… click… louder click.He adjusted the angle, holding his breath.Tiny mechanisms groaned inside the chamber as if protesting his intrusion. The sweat slid down his spine. Any louder, and they would echo through the hallway.He checked the timer on his watch.19 seconds left.“Come on,” he whispered. “Talk to me…”Click.Then silence, nothing moved.The red light blinked, and with one final push, he shifted the pick gently upward. And click, there was a
Chapter 8
Faraday roared again“Why is the chandelier in the First Lady’s chambers still half‑hanging, and you are still alive? You call yourself competent? Fix it now!” Eric turned to everyone in the room, who were now breathing hard from their laughter, picked up his tools and hurried down the hallway toward the First Lady’s wing. He knocked, then swung the door gently. Inside, at the centre, stood Carter Brooks, muscular, dangerous, and a face set as if he had escaped purgatory. Eric froze as the hulk of a man turned.“You again? Why do you show up every damn time I wannahave a good time?” Eric swallowed. “Sir, I was told to replace the chandelier; there was a complaint from Faraday.” “Unless you're here for any other motive, I see nothing wrong with this Chandelier.” Carter looked at the Chandelier while eyeing Eric.Hillary emerged from her bathroom smelling like holiness and hygiene. Her robe was half-open and her hair dishevelled in deliberate art. She folded her arms. “Carter,
Chapter 7
The gala had ended, and now everyone had moved to the gallery section of the Whitehouse. Lady Fredith leaned dramatically on her cane like it was her staff of office. “I never trusted that woman,” she said, loud enough for every aide and eavesdropper to hear. “That Hillary. The one my dear nephew married.”Eric Pason was quietly dusting a bookshelf, pretending not to listen, but his ears were wide open. The glint in Lady Fredith’s eyes meant trouble.President Tate chuckled awkwardly, adjusting his tie. “Aunt Fredith, Hillary’s been by my wife for years. She’s been nothing but supportive.”“Supportive?” Lady Fredith raised her brow like she was about to sneeze judgment. “Please, Richard. That woman couldn’t support a flower pot without letting it rot.”Raynor cleared his throat. “With all due respect, ma’am, the First Lady has proven her loyalty to the presidency, especially during international tours. She has presence.”“She has presence, yes,” Lady Fredith fired back, “just like sm
Chapter 6
The Whitehouse gala had begun.And now Mr Faraday, like a captain commanding a sinking ship, barked orders across to the staff.“Eric! For God’s sake, you useless twig of a man! Stop standing there like a monument, make yourself useful!”Eric turned, balancing the silver tray of champagne and ice as he carved his way through dancers.“Try not to trip over your own dignity this time,” he sneered, drawing chuckles from two junior staffers behind him. “If you had any.”Eric didn’t flinch; he simply walked past and made his way to the VIP section, where President Tate sat, perfectly postured in a black tuxedo, holding First Lady Hillary’s hand like they were high school sweethearts instead of two sneaky secrets-keeping couples.Clara Raynor was laughing intensely at DSS Malcolm's unfunny jokes, her hand securely wrapped around his. Oh, love, Eric hissed.Felicia Haywale gestured with her hands, to Raynor's amusement, while Hillary watched in disgust.Eric approached with his tray and bow
Chapter 5
5“Oh, didn’t expect to run into the Whitehouse stripper so early. I thought your kind vanished with the last scandal.”Hillary threw the first jab. Eric watched in amusement.Felicia smiled; her lipstick was perfect. “Well, you know me. Scandals keep me young.”“I suppose the cleaners forgot to disinfect the presidential quarters,” Hillary said coldly, eyes scanning Felicia’s neckline. “You must’ve sneaked out of his bed… As usual.”“At least someone’s keeping him warm. You’ve been rather… preoccupied, aren't you?” Felicia smirked.Hillary smiled wickedly. “Much better than being a hoe to someone who gives zero fucks about you.”Felicia laughed. “I would rather be worried about being neglected by my very own husband.”“At least I am married, not a bed warmer being called upon when I'm aroused.”Felicia scoffed. “Ohh… What do you call this? Marriage? I'd rather die single…”“And a Hoe”, Hillary spat.“My dear Hillary, you have just two options: either you share him or you get a divorc
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