Todos os capítulos de The Governor’s regret, his broken wife burned it all: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

Evelyn My husband is a whore.Everyone knows it. He’s probably seen more underwear than Victoria’s Secret ever produced but still I endure. That is what marriage is for they say.That thought lands in my throat like a stone while I smile for the cameras. The lights flash white, merciless bleaching the room into a blur of champagne and fake laughter. Alfred’s hand sits heavy on my waist, fingers relaxed just enough to look tender. The perfect husband.He waves, I nod, we look like the picture of power and purpose. We’re standing shoulder to shoulder, the golden couple of his campaign’s charity fundraiser. Together we make this work, even if not together I will do anything to save my marriage.The ballroom is a field of light. Chandeliers spill over polished marble. Crystal glasses chime. Laughter swells, practiced and hollow. A jazz trio hums from somewhere behind a wall of orchids, their notes soft and expensive. The scent of perfume and money hangs thick in the air.Another night

Evelyn’s POV The next morning, Nathan was standing at the kitchen island when I walked in, his phone turned toward me like a weapon. “Mom,” he said, voice tight. “You’ve seen this, right?” On the screen, Alfred was in a navy suit, head ducked, walking beside Julia. The caption underneath read: Senator Cole exits Marlowe Hotel at midnight with unidentified woman rumored to be having an affair. Unidentified. As if I didn’t already know that green dress. The one she wore to last week’s fundraiser the one I helped her zip up before the car arrived. I didn’t reach for the phone. I just stood there, my robe loose at the neck, coffee cooling in my hand, pretending the world wasn’t splitting in two right between my feet. “Yes,” I said finally. My voice came out calm, detached, like I was delivering a verdict. “I’ve seen it.” Nathan looked at me as if he expected something panic, denial, tears. I gave him nothing. “Where’s Dad?” he asked. “Still in his office,”I said H

Evelyn’s POV Three weeks. That’s how long it took for the world to pretend nothing had happened. The papers had moved on to another scandal, the photo was buried under fresher gossip, and Alfred was smiling again the kind of brittle smile that photographs well but never reaches the eyes. I hadn’t been back to the campaign office since that morning. The memory lingered of Julia crying into her hands, everyone else pretending to work, Alfred avoiding me for days before speaking with polite distance. Now, the cameras, the lights, the staff all of it was coming here, to our home. A staged interview. An attempt to scrub the scandal clean. I wasn’t doing it for him, not really, not entirely. I was doing it for appearances, for the family, for the hope that maybe this performance could fix what felt broken. The living room had been transformed. Soft lighting, strategically placed furniture, subtle bouquets on side tables. Staff moved quietly, arranging cameras, checking angles, whi

Evelyn’s P.O.VThe party was at the Harpers’ home Michael and his wife, Lillian. It was her birthday, and every inch of their house screamed celebration. Candles, silk drapes, glittering dresses. The kind of night that smelled of expensive perfume and practiced laughter.“Evelyn, Alfred, you made it,” Michael said, shaking Alfred’s hand with that overeager warmth rich men reserved for each other. “Lillian will be thrilled.”Lillian turned, radiant and tipsy in a gold dress that caught the light every time she moved. “Eve, darling! You look stunning.”I smiled, kissed her cheek. “Happy birthday, Lillian.”She giggled, gripping my arm. “Come, have a drink. Alfred, I hope you brought your charming stories.”He laughed, that public laugh everyone loved. “You know I never run out.”We moved through the room like couple of the year. Smiles, handshakes, small talk about campaigns and charity luncheons. I stood beside him as the good wife should polished, patient, invisible when necessary.T

Evelyn I did not plan fireworks. I did not want the messy thrill of a headline that screamed betrayal. What I wanted was a cut that would ache in exactly the places he cared about: his donors, his speeches, the neat pile of reputation he slept on. I wanted him to feel the same slow unravel he’d given me, only measured, surgical, unavoidable.The study door was unlocked. He left it unlocked because he trusted the world to be as obliging as he was, and because men like him lived by an economy of assumed loyalty. I had lived inside that assumption for twenty-two years and learned its geography; tonight I moved through it like someone reclaiming a map.His laptop woke under my hand, the screen a polite glow. I did not need passwords; I had watched him enter them enough times that his patterns felt like easy rhythm under my thumb. I did not think about the ethics of it. Ethics had been spent long ago on polite smiles while I stitched other people’s scandals into seamless excuses. Tonight