Every Breath You Take - The Police
1:03 âââ¬ââââ 3:45
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Washington, D.C. â The Willard Hotel
The chandelier overhead casts golden light across the ballroom, making everything shimmerâcrystal glasses, polished marble floors, the tight smiles of politicians pretending not to hate each other. The air is thick with the scent of expensive perfume, bourbon, and ambition.
Youâre here with Senator Diana Reed.
Her hand rests lightly on your lower back, a gesture meant to be both protective and possessive. You donât move away. You donât lean into it either. Youâre not sure what youâre doing here at all.
The cameras love Diana. She knows how to work them, angling her face just right, offering the kind of smiles that politicians practice in mirrors. Sheâs sharp, charming, with a confidence that borders on arrogance. And right now, sheâs whispering something in your ear, low enough that only you can hear.
"Sheâs watching."
You know without looking who she is.
Kamala Harris, President of the United States. The woman you used to love. The woman who loved you. The woman who left. This type of used to's were always the most paintful one's
You donât turn toward her, but you can feel her presence like a storm cloud on the horizon.
"Let her watch," you murmur back, lifting your champagne flute to your lips.
Diana smirks. She likes this gameâlikes the way the press speculates, the way Kamalaâs allies grow uneasy when they see you at her side. Youâre a weapon to her, a valuable one. Youâre not sure if you care. Maybe you want to be used. Maybe itâs better than feeling like nothing at all.
"I can see you staring, honey, like heâs just your understudy..."
The lyrics play in your mind, unspoken but deafening. You always had this weird habit of relating your situations to songs.
You dare to glance sideways, and there she isâKamala, across the room, talking to a senator whose name you canât remember. But she isnât really listening. Her eyes are on you. On Dianaâs hand resting just a little too comfortably against your back.
And for the first time in weeks, you feel something close to satisfaction.
Somewhere Else in the Room â Kamala
She knew this would happen. She prepared for it.
So why does it feel like drowning?
Kamala keeps her expression neutral, nodding politely as the senator drones on about policy reform. But her mind is locked on youâthe way you tilt your head just slightly when Diana speaks, the way your lips curl at the edges when you sip your drink. You look radiant. Effortless. And yet, Kamala knows you well enough to see through it.
She sees the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers tighten around the delicate stem of your glass. You may be standing next to Diana, but youâre not with her.
Not yet.
"Jealousy isnât productive," she reminds herself, but itâs useless.
Because shes wearing the necklace.
The one she gave you. The one she thought youâd never take offâuntil you left it behind in her palm the night she shattered everything between you.
She swallows hard, her throat tight. The ballroom feels too small, the air too warm, the space between you unbearable. But she needs to stay calm.
Then you turnâslowly, deliberately, almost as if calculating every inch of your movementâand meet her gaze.
You hold it just long enough for the knife to twist.
Then you look away, and don't look her way for the rest of the evening.
Later That Night â Dianaâs Apartment
The night has unraveled into something softer, quieter.
You sit on Dianaâs couch, a glass of whiskey in your hand, the city skyline sprawling beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. She watches you carefully, calculating even in the comfort of her own home. She knows. Shes way too intelligent, and it scares you a bit.
"Youâre thinking about her."
You donât deny it. You don't want to lie to her face.
Diana leans forward, plucking the glass from your hand and setting it aside.
"I donât mind," she murmurs, brushing her fingers along your wrist. "As long as youâre here."
You should pull away. You donât.
Instead, you let her pull you closer, let her lips ghost over your skin, let yourself slip into something that feels almost like forgetting.
Even though you both knowâ
This isnât love.
This is start of a war.