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The High-Stakes Campaign
Last Updated:
2025-11-04 23:42:57
Latest chapter
Unworthy No More The High-Stakes Campaign
Isla’s POVMy campaign had gained traction. The rallies were overflowing, media interviews were amplifying our message, volunteers were working tirelessly, but the higher I rose, the more dangerous the air became.Nathaniel Blake was no longer subtle. His whispers had evolved into strikes. Anonymous tip-offs, online smear campaigns, and attempts to turn public opinion against me. I felt it first during a debate.The moderator asked a question about my NGO and political experience. I answered clearly, passionately, grounding my response in the real stories of women whose lives we had changed. Yet across the stage, an opponent smirked knowingly, planting a seed of doubt in the audience’s mind: “Ms Hart, has done remarkable work, but can she handle the responsibilities of political office? Or is this just another stage for personal ambition?”The words stung, not because they were untrue, but because Nathaniel had orchestrated them. Backstage, my hands shook, not from fear but from frust
Unworthy No More Campaign Launch
Isla’s POVI felt surreal as I arrived at the campaign headquarters. A sense of electricity thrummed in the air, hundreds of volunteers, journalists, and supporters moving with purpose. Their energy was contagious, a reminder that this was bigger than me. Bigger than Alexander. Bigger than any single fight.I stepped onto the stage for the first time as a Senate candidate. Cameras flashed, microphones hovered, and for a heartbeat, the noise threatened to drown out my thoughts. But then I felt it, Alexander’s presence in the wings, steady, protective, unwavering. Shoulder to shoulder, we had faced darkness together. This was no different.I took a deep breath and addressed the crowd, my voice firm, confident, yet warm. “Every woman, every child, every mother deserves safety, opportunity, and dignity. My work with The Dawn Foundation has shown me that change is possible when we stand together. Today, I ask you to join me, to stand not just for me, but for every life that matters in our
Unworthy No More Acceptance And Preparation
Isla’s POVThe city was quiet that morning, the sunlight catching the edges of glass towers like liquid gold. I stood in the office of my NGO, hands resting on the polished desk, watching the team move with quiet efficiency, women and men dedicated to a purpose far bigger than themselves. Their trust, their faith in me, weighed on me with a mix of pride and responsibility.And then there was the envelope on my desk, sealed with the insignia of the cabinet minister. My pulse quickened before I even broke the seal. Inside was a formal invitation, a proposal for me to run for Senate. Not for prestige, not for personal gain, but to expand my reach, to protect more lives, to empower more women and children than the NGO alone could.I exhaled slowly, letting the gravity of the moment settle. Politics was a new battlefield, one I had never imagined stepping onto, but suddenly, it felt inevitable. My work, my voice, my choices, they could change lives on a scale I had only dreamed of. Althoug
Unworthy No More Rising Tides
Isla’s POV The city lived on, oblivious to the quiet wars waged beneath its surface, battles fought not with weapons, but with courage, grit, and faith. I had just returned to The Dawn Foundation after a rescue mission, guiding a young mother and her daughter from the edge of fear into safety, when the first sign of trouble appeared. A call. No voice, only silence and static. Then a click. A warning. I did not flinch. Fear had stopped being my language long ago. Purpose had taken its place. Whoever they were, they had no idea what kind of woman they were trying to intimidate. “Everything okay?” my assistant asked, her tone hesitant as she caught the tension in my posture. “Better than okay,” I said, eyes fixed on the skyline shimmering beyond the glass. “They’ve just reminded me what we stand for. We don’t run. We protect. We fight. And we win.” My phone buzzed again, a secure message. Alexander: Nathaniel’s pawns moving. He won’t touch you. Not while I breathe. Even through text
Unworthy No More Storms And Light
Isla’s POV The city slept unevenly, unaware of the battles waged in shadows and in quiet rooms where courage lived in small, unseen acts. I walked through the NGO’s offices, my steps soft but purposeful, the hum of computers and whispered conversations filling the space. Today, we were guiding a mother and her teenage daughter away from a life of fear, a life defined by control, abuse, and whispered threats. They clutched each other tightly when I greeted them, eyes wide and uncertain. “It’s okay,” I said softly, letting my hands brush theirs. “You’re safe now. And we’ll make sure no one can touch that safety again.” The mother’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, the daughter fidgeted nervously, but a fragile spark of trust flickered in both of them. I had seen it before, yet each time it felt like the first, hope, trembling and tentative, but unbreakable if nurtured carefully. “Follow me,” I whispered, leading them through the quiet corridors. My team moved with practiced pre
Unworthy No More The Numbers Of Life
Isla’s POVThere was a time when my life could be measured in numbers, deadlines, profit margins, balance sheets, quarterly goals. I once believed that was my purpose. To make everything add up. To prove my worth by how well I could keep other people’s worlds in order, even while mine quietly unraveled.Six years. That was how long I spent married to Nathaniel Blake, six years of shrinking myself to fit inside his version of love. Six years of being told that emotions were weaknesses, that softness was foolish, that I was lucky he chose me.I became an expert at pretending. At smiling whilst my heart cried, presenting myself gracefully while ignoring the hollow ache beneath my ribs. I used to think control was power. That if I could keep the numbers right, I could keep my world from collapsing. But numbers could not save me from the night he brought another woman, heavily pregnant, into our home. Numbers could not protect Sophie and me from the storm.But time has a strange way of rew
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