Chapter 3 — Between a Rock and a Hard Place...

Washington, D.C.

Gabriel Vincent

"Gabriel, you were magnificent!"

"If you want to win this election, though, you're going to have to lose that cold exterior. I don't see any other way. Do that, and there's no way the party turns down your nomination," Marcus, my chief of staff, gushes with excitement.

"I don't count my chickens before they hatch, Marcus. And quit nagging me about my demeanor."

I hate his obsession with trying to make me smile all the time.

"We wait for their decision, and that won't come for another week. In the meantime, we need to raise more campaign funds. That's what actually matters!"

The security detail clears a path through the sea of reporters jostling each other, starving for a soundbite.

The guards hold back the crowd with firm arms, forming a flawless protective corridor all the way to the car door.

I slide into the back seat, cross my legs, and stare out the tinted window, feeling the adrenaline of power surge through my veins—exactly where I planned to be.

"What else is on the schedule for today?"

"We have a lunch in an hour with top executives from the pharmaceutical industry. You need to convince them that you have the best healthcare policy for your term, Gabriel."

"Try to seem warmer and more empathetic this time. At least crack a smile and drop that scowl like you're mad at the world," he advises.

I take a deep breath, feeling my jaw clench at Marcus's words.

That is my absolute biggest weakness in this campaign: the obligation to be charming and pleasant to everyone. I despise this cynical side of politics.

I detest putting on fake smiles and playing nice, even with people I know would love to plunge a dagger into my back.

Still, if that’s the price to reach the pinnacle of power and gain the means to fight for the underprivileged, I'll pay it without batting an eye.

The lunch with the pharma executives didn't leave me feeling entirely confident they would actually contribute to my campaign fund.

It was pleasant enough on the surface. But there was a relentless prying into my private life that irritated me deeply underneath it all.

"I told you to lay on the charm with those executives, Gabriel," Marcus complains from the front seat of the SUV as we drive home.

"If you really want to break into the world of politics, you need to be more adaptable and let people relate to you."

"This is who I fucking am! And this exact attitude is what got me to where I am today," I snap, completely losing my patience.

"I'm sick and tired of this ridiculous insistence that I walk around with a frozen smile pasted on my face everywhere I go."

"You made it this far in the legal realm as a defense attorney, where everyone is looking for a ruthless bastard..."

"But in politics, on top of being ruthless, you have to sell voters and donors the idea that you actually care about their struggles."

"I do care. Not only do I care, but I make it crystal clear in every single one of my policy proposals."

I grow tense with pure frustration.

"People need to see it, Gabriel. Have you taken a good look at your campaign photos lately?" he asks sarcastically, turning around in his seat.

"You look like you're constantly sucking on a lemon! Always that same scowl. We're going to have to get you a coach to teach you how to smile."

"Get off my damn back, Marcus," I mutter, staring out the window, entirely fed up with this conversation.

"If you want to win this election, you're going to have to lose that cold exterior. I don't see any other way. I told you already."

"The executives liked you—you projected confidence and strength. But you lack charisma. Do you see the problem now?"

Charisma my ass!

It's hard to walk around flashing smiles when you've had to live with the kind of traumatic pain these people couldn't even begin to imagine.

Ever since my younger brother died—and the filthy way the whole thing was swept under the rug while my father walked away scot-free—I lost the desire to smile.

If I am still breathing today and still fighting, it's to seek justice for him and for countless other defenseless children suffering abuse behind closed doors.

I finally arrive at my house, a spacious, grand, and quiet estate where I live alone.

I head up the stairs to my master suite and begin taking off my suit, which feels heavy as lead against my exhausted frame.

I step into the bathroom and turn on the shower, letting the hot water pour down over my head and tense shoulders.

The moment the water hits my face and trickles over my closed eyes, a violent surge of suffocation strikes me.

The sound of cascading water twists into the terrifying roar of the lake at Blackwood Bay.

Traumatic memories rush back like a devastating tsunami, dragging me right back to that cursed day eighteen years ago.

The shower water feels like it's drowning me, bringing back the bitter taste of terror, helplessness, and the deep-seated pain locked in my soul.

Right there, inside the privacy of my marble shower, Washington's unshakeable power player completely breaks down.

It is only here, hidden away in my bedroom, far from the prying eyes of the world and political arenas, that I allow myself to expose my rawest vulnerabilities.

I weep for my brother, for the promise I failed to keep, and for the monster I had to become just to survive in this ruthless world.

Overcome by pure exhaustion and a profound grief I constantly disguise as a bad mood, I finally fall asleep.

I wake up to the blaring sound of my alarm. I drag myself out of bed, still drained from the non-stop campaign grind.

After taking a shower and getting dressed, I head downstairs for breakfast, only to find Senator Thomas Sterling waiting for me in the living room.

"Good morning, son! You never break the habit of waking up early and looking sharp at this hour," he remarks, stepping forward to give me a warm hug.

Thomas Sterling is my mentor and the closest thing to a father I've ever had.

He was the one who extended a helping hand and helped me get to where I am, putting his trust in an ambitious, fresh-out-of-law-school attorney.

"Good morning, Senator! What brings you here so early, even knowing I'd already be up and impeccably dressed?"

"I came to have breakfast with my surrogate son—not that my biological son needs to hear that—and to talk about your campaign."

We sit down at the table already set by my housekeeper.

"I spoke with a few of the executives you had lunch with yesterday," Thomas begins, cutting straight to the delicate topic I know is going to irritate me.

"And what did they have to say?" I ask, my jaw clenching as I brace for the criticism.

"I didn't just speak with them, Gabriel," Thomas continues, staring at me intently.

"I also have the party's advance decision. My conversation with those executives, along with others I sounded out earlier, led me to agree with their ruling."

"And what did the party decide, Thomas? Are they rejecting my bid for the Senate?" I feel my heart sprint out of control.

"We need a candidate who looks like the people—someone who feels and thinks like the vast majority of everyday Americans," he explains calmly.

"We are a majority conservative nation, Gabriel. That is something you know just as well as I do."

"The party requires you to present a girlfriend, a fiancée, or even a wife as soon as possible to lend credibility and weight to the campaign," the senator drops the bombshell.

"The public and the donors need to believe that you share their traditional family values."

"Are you telling me I have to publicly parade around with a woman pretending to be my girlfriend...?"

"Preferably a fiancée..." Thomas corrects.

"That is complete and utter bullshit!" I snap, infuriated by such an absurd and invasive demand.

"It is the party's non-negotiable condition for accepting your nomination and letting you run for the Senate," Thomas makes it clear I have no way out.

I rest my elbows on the table and bury my face in my hands, feeling a storm brewing inside my head.

Now what? Where on earth am I going to find a fiancée willing to help me fake it for an entire nation—someone who wants nothing more than a relationship built on pure appearances?

My life and my closed-off heart have no room for anything beyond my work and this obsessive mission to become senator.