3. The Launch of the Program

The Ritz-Carlton ballroom in Washington, D.C. buzzed with chatter. Crystal chandeliers glittered above, while floor-to-ceiling drapes framed the stage decorated with banners of the Capitol dome and the National Mall. Screens played looping videos of the Washington Monument under the morning sun, setting a patriotic tone for the day. Media crews adjusted their cameras, while staff coordinated seating for senators, members of Congress, cabinet officials, and leading educators.

The event began with a brief video presentation showcasing achievements in digital education. Animated graphics swept across the screens, statistics glowed in bold numbers, and footage highlighted schools nationwide already connected to the new digital platform.

Gabby sat in the front row, her hands folded gracefully in her lap. Her dress glimmered softly under the chandelier lights. She felt a mixture of excitement and mischief, already planning subtle ways to stir reactions without stepping out of line. Yet, her gaze never strayed far from Adryan. His broad shoulders under the tailored suit, the way his jaw tightened before he walked to the podium—it tugged at something in her chest she refused to name.

Adryan, Chair of the Senate Committee on Education and Technology, stepped up to the podium, adjusting the microphone. The room quieted, all eyes turning toward him. His voice, calm yet commanding, carried across the space.

“Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, today marks a significant step forward in our nation’s commitment to education. The National Digital Education Program is designed to bridge technological gaps, ensuring that students from every state—urban or rural—have access to high-quality digital learning tools.”

He paused, letting the words sink in, scanning the audience briefly before continuing:

“Just as congressional committees depend on experienced leadership to guide specific areas of governance, this program will rely on coordinated oversight. In our system, a committee chair is chosen through majority leadership, ensuring accountability and expertise in shaping legislative priorities. Likewise, we will appoint regional coordinators, each responsible for implementation and quality control, accountable to the national board overseeing digital education.”

Gabby listened, her eyes following the subtle gestures of her husband. She understood only part of the technicalities, but she admired the way Adryan’s voice commanded authority without sounding arrogant. Each sentence was deliberate, measured—like watching a conductor orchestrate an entire symphony. Her lips curved faintly; for once, she let herself look at him not as a cold stranger, but as the man everyone else seemed to admire.

After explaining the structure, selection process, and expected outcomes, Adryan concluded his speech:

“Through collaboration, transparency, and dedication, we aim to equip our youth with the skills necessary to thrive in a rapidly changing digital world. Thank you.”

Applause filled the room, echoing against the ornate walls. Flashbulbs popped as journalists captured the moment.

Gabby leaned toward him, her perfume brushing against his shoulder. “See? I knew you’d be impressive,” she whispered, lips close enough to make him stiffen.

Adryan’s eyes met hers briefly, a flicker of warmth crossing his otherwise stoic face. “Focus, Gabby. We’re not done yet.” His tone was stern, but his gaze lingered a second too long before he looked away.

---

The event flowed into a luncheon prepared by the hotel. Round tables were filled with senators, representatives, governors, and educators exchanging ideas over plated dishes and sparkling drinks. Conversations overlapped—policy debates mixing with polite small talk, punctuated by laughter and the occasional clinking of glasses.

At one table, a senior senator leaned toward Adryan.

“Senator Lewis, your committee’s vision is ambitious. But do you really think rural schools can adapt this quickly?”

Adryan answered smoothly, cutting his steak with measured precision. “Adaptation is never immediate, Senator. That’s why we’ve structured regional oversight. Progress will be uneven, but accountability will remain consistent.”

Gabby, sipping her sparkling water, interjected lightly, “Which means no one gets to slack off. Not even the rural states.”

The senator chuckled. “Ah, so you’re the sharper tongue in the family?”

Adryan shot her a quick, warning glance under the table—but beneath it, his knee brushed hers. Neither of them moved away.

Later, during dessert, another guest raised a glass. “To the future of education—and to those bold enough to lead it.”

Gabby clinked glasses with the others and whispered to Adryan, “Bold, yes. Patient? Not so much.”

His jaw tightened, but his reply was calm, almost cold. “Careful, Gabby. You mistake endurance for impatience.” Yet his hand lingered too long near hers as he set down his glass, the tension crackling between them like static.

---

The luncheon gave way to the press interviews. A wall of cameras and microphones surrounded Adryan. He stood tall, delivering sharp soundbites:

“Our priority is equity. Digital tools are only powerful if they reach every child, not just those in wealthy districts.”

A journalist called out, “And what role does your wife play in this initiative?”

Gabby stepped forward before Adryan could answer, flashing a disarming smile. “I make sure he eats and sleeps while changing the world. Someone has to.”

Laughter rippled through the press pool. A few reporters exchanged knowing glances—Gabby had her own nonprofit, and many suspected her influence reached further than she admitted. One even murmured, “The Lewis couple—quite the team,” as cameras clicked furiously.

Adryan’s eyes narrowed at her answer, but deep down, there was no denying: her presence softened his image, made him more human. And he hated that he noticed.

---

By the time the last question was answered and the final photo taken, the golden rays of late afternoon streamed through the hotel’s windows. The once-bustling ballroom was now quiet, tables being cleared, banners being taken down. The day’s grand event had finally come to a close.

They stepped toward the exit, moving through clusters of journalists and officials. Flashbulbs popped around them, and Adryan instinctively positioned himself slightly in front of her, shielding her from the crowd but only half-heartedly. Gabby caught his protective stance and let out a soft laugh.

Adryan opened the car door for her, the usual stiffness in his movements softened just a fraction. “Seatbelt,” he instructed, voice firm but not harsh.

“Of course,” Gabby replied, sliding in and fastening herself with a casual grace that belied the adrenaline still coursing through her.

They moved away from the Ritz-Carlton, the dome of the Capitol glowing in the evening light. Gabby leaned slightly toward Adryan, whispering with a sly grin, “Not bad for a day’s work, huh?”

Adryan glanced at her briefly, jaw tight. “Don’t push it,” he said, though his eyes betrayed a glimmer of something softer, perhaps admiration, perhaps exasperation.

Gabby smiled faintly, letting her hand rest near his on the center console, careful not to touch, but close enough that both of them felt the heat radiating in the narrow space.

---

The car rolled to a stop in front of their Georgetown mansion. Gabby hopped out, adjusting her dress, her heels clicking against the marble steps, a carefree smirk tugging at her lips. Adryan followed silently, hands clasped behind his back, jaw tight.

Inside, the quiet of the house was almost oppressive after the chaos of cameras, senators, and applause. Gabby stretched lazily against the wall, arms raised, letting her hair fall over her shoulders.

“That was… boringly predictable,” she said, eyes gleaming, as if she had somehow won a private victory.

Adryan’s gaze snapped to her, sharp and cold. “Boringly predictable? You mean you nearly embarrassed me in front of every influential person in the room,” he said, voice low, almost restrained.

Gabby tilted her head, pretending innocence. “Oh, come on. I only drew a little attention. You looked… surprised, even.”

Adryan’s jaw tightened further. His hand clenched briefly at his side before he forced it to relax. “I don’t want surprises from you. Ever.”

She smirked, stepping closer, letting her fingers lightly brush along the edge of the table, deliberately close to him. “Oh? You seem to enjoy them sometimes,” she teased softly, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Adryan’s nostrils flared imperceptibly, and his expression hardened. “Enjoy them? Don’t flatter yourself. I… I can’t stand you,” he said, his voice tight, controlled.

Gabby’s lips quirked into a teasing grin. “Can’t stand me, huh? That’s… new. I thought you liked playing chess with me.”

“I hate your games,” he snapped, then immediately controlled himself, letting the harshness linger only in his eyes. “Every move, every smile, every tiny provocation—it’s exhausting. And yet…” His gaze darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “…I can’t ignore it. I can’t ignore you.”

Gabby leaned slightly forward, heart racing at the restrained tension in his tone. “Careful, Adryan. You might just admit you’re… addicted to my chaos,” she whispered, a teasing edge in her voice.

He exhaled sharply, stepping just a hair closer, his shadow falling over her. “I hate that I notice,” he muttered, almost under his breath. “I hate how infuriating you are… and yet, I… can’t look away.”

Gabby tilted her head, smiling, daring him silently. The room was silent except for their measured breathing, the weight of their unspoken battle hanging in the air—an invisible tug-of-war of hatred, fascination, and undeniable tension.

She turned, letting her fingers trail along the banister as she moved toward the living room. “I’ll leave you to your brooding, Senator Lewis,” she said softly, a little victorious.

Adryan stayed rooted, eyes following her, jaw clenched, hate and fascination warring in every line of his face. He hated Gabby… but he couldn’t stop himself from watching, couldn’t stop the pull he felt, no matter how much he tried.