24.0
So it's come to my attention that some of you guys did not realize that this is book 2 in the series.
I would definitely recommend going back and reading his secret first and then her secret.
I definitely think this book could probably be read as a standalone, but I would recommend to read his secret first.
I am interested in knowing if you guys have a favorite/least favorite pov or do you like the dual pov.
The cursor blinked at the bottom of the screen, waiting for me to type something I didn't care enough to write. I'd been staring at the same sentence for fifteen minutes—some memo draft that Bryan's team wanted polished before the next debate.
Numbers and names blurred together. My mind was elsewhere.
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing at the knot forming at the base of my neck, when the door to my office creaked open.
Margot stepped inside without knocking.
She was dressed like she'd just stepped off a magazine shoot—silk blouse tucked perfectly, diamonds glinting faintly at her wrist. She carried a small glass of white wine, the kind of detail that made her presence feel intentional.
"Working late again?" she asked, her voice light, like she was making conversation with a stranger at a gala.
"Trying to." I closed the laptop halfway. "What's up?"
"Nothing." She shrugged, moving closer. "Just thought I'd tell you about my day."
That made me look up. "Your day?"
"Yes." She perched against the edge of the desk, swirling her wine. "Lunch with my mother, fittings for the announcement day, talked to Camille about next weekend's itinerary..."
I studied her, waiting for the punchline. We didn't do small talk. Not anymore.
When I didn't answer, she gave a faint smile. "You seem surprised."
"Just wondering what I did to deserve the recap."
She tilted her head. "Can't a wife make conversation?"
The word wife landed like a pin drop—sharp, deliberate.
I sat back. "Sure," I said. "It's just been a while."
She took a sip, watching me over the rim. "You've been hard to find lately."
I felt my jaw tense. "I've been working."
"That what we're calling it now?"
"Excuse me?"
She set the glass down with a soft clink. "Every time I wake up, you're gone. Every night, I hear your car pulling out of the garage. You don't come home until midnight—if you even come home at all."
Her tone stayed calm, but there was something coiled beneath it.
"Margot—"
She cut me off. "If you're hiding something, Brooks, I'll find out."
The line hung there, heavier than the rest of the conversation.
I met her eyes. "That sounds like a threat."
"It's a promise," she said, lips curling faintly. Then she picked up her glass again, turned, and walked out, her heels clicking sharp against the tile.
The door closed behind her with a click that echoed.
I exhaled slowly, leaning back in the chair.
It was obvious now—she hadn't come in to talk. She came in to rattle me.
And maybe she would've succeeded if there'd been anything to find. But I hadn't been reckless. Not public. Amira and Alina were off the radar. Quiet. Safe.
Margot was bluffing, trying to see if I'd flinch. I didn't.
I went back to the laptop, typed a few half-sentences I wouldn't remember in the morning, then shut it.
The cursor blinked once more before disappearing.
The next morning, Jenna was waiting by my office door before I even walked in.
Her expression said it all—disappointment, irritation, exhaustion.
"You missed the education committee meeting," she said flatly.
"I know."
"You know," she repeated, incredulous. "Brooks, the press was there. The Governor's chief of staff was there. You were supposed to introduce Bryan's new initiative."
I adjusted my cufflinks. "Something came up."
"Something," she said slowly, "that was more important than the campaign?"
Her voice was tight, controlled. I didn't answer. Because if I did, I'd have to admit that "something" was an afternoon spent watching Amira teach Alina how to make snowflakes.
And I didn't regret a second of it.
"You've been... off lately. Distracted. You've skipped three minor events, and yesterday's wasn't minor."
I opened a drawer, pulled out a folder I didn't need, just to have something to look at. "You sound like my dad."
"Good," she said, because she wasn't the type to be intimidated. "Maybe you'll actually listen to one of us."
I smirked, though it didn't reach my eyes. "You're one speech away from quitting, aren't you?"
Her silence told me she'd thought about it.
"I'll handle it," I said finally.
"Handle it soon," she said. "Because your mother's been asking where you've been, and if she's asking, you can bet Bryan will too."
She turned and left, her heels clicking down the hallway, each step echoing louder than the last.
For a long minute, I just sat there, staring at nothing. My inbox was overflowing. My calendar was a mess. My mind was still stuck on Alina's laugh echoing in the living room yesterday, the way she'd tugged my sleeve and said, "play tag with me."
It was ridiculous how fast a child could dismantle everything you thought was steady.
The phone on my desk rang. I didn't need to check the ID to know who it was.
Bryan.
I let it ring once before answering. "Hey."
"Afternoon, partner." His tone was smooth, that deliberate kind of casual politicians used when they wanted to sound harmless. "You were quiet yesterday."
I leaned back in my chair. "You mean the committee meeting."
He chuckled lightly, but there was no humor in it. "You say that like it was optional."
"I had a personal matter."
"Personal," he repeated, drawing the word out like he was tasting it. "You know, that's the second time I've heard that this week."
"I'll make sure it's the last."
"See that you do." His tone stayed calm, measured, but it carried weight. "Because when you miss an event like that, it doesn't just reflect on you—it reflects on the ticket. People read into things. They start wondering if we're... aligned."
"We are," I said evenly.
"Good," he said, though it sounded like a test I'd barely passed. "I like when we're on the same page. It keeps everybody happy. Keeps the narrative clean."
"I'll make sure it stays that way."
A pause stretched—comfortable on his end, not so much on mine. Then he added, "I know you're juggling a lot right now. But if there's anything that's pulling focus—tie it off. You're too valuable to look distracted."
I stared out the window, watching the reflection of the city shimmer against the glass. "I appreciate the reminder."
"Of course you do," Bryan said smoothly. "You've always had a good sense of discipline. I'd hate to see that change now."
The line went quiet for a moment, long enough that I thought he might hang up. Then, almost lightly, he said, "We've got a prep session Monday at nine. Don't make me start without you."
"I won't."
"Good man," he said, voice warm again. Then the click of a lighter, a faint exhale. "Enjoy your weekend, Brooks. You've earned it."
The call ended before I could say anything back.
I sat there for a moment, staring at the phone. The conversation had been polite, even friendly, but it still left that familiar aftertaste—control disguised as camaraderie.
I sat there for a while, staring at the phone, the city lights bleeding against the window's reflection. Bryan didn't need to shout; his control was smoother than that. He spoke in warnings wrapped like compliments—always reminding me that every part of this machine moved because of him.
And me? I was supposed to move right beside him.
No friction. No questions.
The silence in the office felt too tight.
Even the air conditioner hummed like it was waiting for permission.
I loosened my tie, leaned back in my chair, and stared at the ceiling. The longer I sat there, the clearer it became that I didn't want to.
I used to love this job. The structure, the pressure, the importance. Every briefing, every handshake—it used to mean something. Now it all just felt performative. Empty applause under bad lighting.
The hum of my phone pulled me out of it.
I stared at the screen for a few seconds before replying.
I stood, grabbed my jacket off the back of the chair, and turned off the desk lamp. The light flickered once before the room went dark, leaving only the skyline and my reflection staring back at me—tie loose, eyes tired, pretending not to be both.
I left the building without a word.
Security nodded at me in the lobby, one of them saying something about the debate, but I barely caught it.
Outside, the sky was bruised purple, rain threatening but not quite there. The city always looked better from a distance—glamorous, curated, full of promise. Up close, it was just noise.
I got in the car and sat there for a moment before starting it.
I should've gone home. Should've changed, showered, gone to whatever dinner I was technically already late for.
But I didn't.
I thought about Alina's laugh again—the way her face lit up when she showed me the crayon drawing she made for me last week. I thought about Amira sitting beside her, pretending not to watch me watching them.
It wasn't complicated. It wasn't staged. It wasn't fake.
It just felt like something that belonged to me.
I started the car and pulled out of the garage. The rain started as a drizzle, soft against the windshield, like the city was whispering.
A notification flashed on the console—Margot, probably reminding me about the event.
I didn't check it.
Her house was thirty minutes away. I knew every turn by memory now.
I pressed a little harder on the gas.
By the time I pulled up, the rain had stopped but the street still glistened like it hadn't let go yet. The porch light was on, glowing soft through the thin drizzle. I could see shadows moving inside—small, quick, familiar.
When she opened the door, she didn't look surprised.
Just warm, tired in that soft way that came from long days, not from me.