All Chapters of The Governor’s regret, his broken wife burned it all: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

It was a sunny day at the office, calm and bright, and everyone was busy with last-minute preparations for the official campaign launch. Laughter floated across the rooms, phones buzzed incessantly, papers shuffled from desk to desk, and the scent of coffee lingered with the faint tang of printer toner. Staff moved like clockwork, juggling tasks, making sure nothing slipped through the cracks before the big event.Alfred sat behind his desk, legs crossed, a half-empty cup of coffee sweating on the leather blotter. He skimmed over the morning’s briefings but only half-focused, listening more than reading. Across from him, Theo leaned forward, notebook open, pen scratching notes as he outlined the new media plan. Every point was precise. press coverage, social engagement, scheduling, hashtags, social posts timed down to the minute. Alfred nodded occasionally, asking the kind of small questions that made Theo straighten, scribble faster, and clarify himself in tighter, sharper sentences.

Evelyn’s POV It’s been forty-eight hours since the troubles started and I’ve been enjoying watching him move from pillar to post, trying to hold everything together, calling people, shouting orders, pretending he isn’t drowning. I was getting ready to go to Pilates when my phone rang. “Evelyn.” His voice. Tight. Flat. No greeting. “I need you to come to the office. Now.” I held the phone away from my ear for a second, staring at it like maybe I heard wrong. “Is something wrong?” He didn’t answer that. Just repeated, “Come now,” and hung up. I stood there a moment, phone still in my hand, trying to decide if I cared enough to go. But curiosity wins with Alfred it always does. I wanted to see how bad the fire is this time, how much he’s pretending he can handle it alone. So I changed out of my leggings, grabbed my keys, and drove. By the time I reached the campaign office, the building felt like an overworked beehive. Staff moving fast, voices low, phones ringing off the hook. T

Evelyn’s POV The campaign office was louder than usual when I walked in, everyone trying to look busy, papers flying around, phones ringing nonstop, and the energy in there was chaotic in a way that told me nobody knew what they were doing anymore. Alfred was in one of the smaller rooms having a meeting with Lawson and some of the board members. From where I stood, I could see them through the glass, his hands moving, his jaw tight, his voice probably high. I didn’t come here to comfort him. I came for something else entirely. I walked past the reception desk and the girl there smiled awkwardly. She looked nervous, maybe because she’d seen the news too and wasn’t sure how to greet the boss’s wife in the middle of a scandal. I just smiled back and told her I wanted to see my husband, but that I’d check around first. I knew where I was going even before I said it. The finance section was upstairs, next to the audit unit. The lights were still on even though it looked like everyone

Evelyn’s POVI got home at about 1am that day, tried to beat my husband’s record but I honestly couldn’t. He was the king of coming home at ridiculous hours. I wasn’t even close.After leaving the dinner with Theo, my mind was buzzing, too full, too heavy, too loud. I didn’t want to go home immediately and see Alfred’s face or feel his eyes drag over me like I owed him something. So I crossed the street and walked into the bar. One innocent glass turned into two, then three, then I stopped counting because the bartender kept topping it up before I even asked.I sat there alone for a long while, pretending the dim lights and soft music were enough to drown out everything building up inside me. I kept telling myself I deserved at least one night to be in my own head, alone, without someone demanding something from me. Without thinking twice, I let myself sink into the seat, legs crossed, staring at the half-empty drink like it could give me answers.By the time I stood up, I knew I had

EVELYN’S POV I crouched by the edge of the garden, pretending the rose bush needed attention. My knees ached a little from the position, but I stayed there because the alternative was walking back inside and thinking too much. I didn’t care about roses. I didn’t care about any of the plants I’d been forcing myself to fuss over the years I only dragged myself out here when my mind needed to be busy so it wouldn’t wander into places I wasn’t ready to revisit. The trowel lay on the ground beside me, half-buried in soil I’d barely touched. I wasn’t even gardening, not really. I was just turning leaves over, picking at stems, pinching at things that didn’t matter. And the part that irritated me most was knowing I could’ve been somewhere else. Somewhere where the work had meaning. Somewhere where I didn’t have to pretend this role fit. I pulled at a weed that resisted more than it should’ve. It was one of those stubborn ones, thick roots, ugly leaves. The kind that seemed to grow stron