Chapter 3: 3. Ghosts

Two Ghosts - Harry Styles

1:03 ──⚬──── 3:49

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The Capitol Building – Bipartisan Reception

It’s a crowded affair, filled with political elites, their conversations a chaotic hum of policy discussions, false pleasantries, and discreet negotiations. You stick close to Diana, her presence a familiar anchor in the sea of insincerity.

She’s laughing at something Representative Collins says, but her eyes are on you, scanning your reactions as though gauging how deep she’s hooked you.

You wonder if you’re playing her game or if you’ve simply become another pawn.

"You’re a hit tonight," Diana whispers, squeezing your hand for effect. You force a smile, the kind that’s polite but doesn’t reach your eyes.

"It’s the company," you murmur back trying to satisfy her, aware of how her grip tightens possessively.

The room quiets as Kamala enters, her presence commanding without effort. She’s radiant in a navy-blue suit, her confidence filling every corner of the space she inhabits. Her eyes scan the room—an automatic, practiced sweep. But when they land on you, the briefest flicker of something almost breaks her composure.

Diana notices too.

"She’s been watching you all night," Diana says, lips barely moving. "Can’t seem to let go, can she?"

"She’s the one who ended it," you reply, bitterness slipping through your careful facade. "If she wanted me gone, she shouldn’t care where I end up."

"Oh, she cares," Diana assures, her voice smooth as silk. "Which makes this all the more fun."

Kamala’s Pov

Kamala maintains her presidential grace, nodding along as Secretary Monroe praises her latest policy initiative. The words wash over her, unprocessed, because her focus is a dozen feet away—on you, standing at Diana’s side like you belong there.

Ghosts in the room. That’s what you’ve become. An apparition she can’t touch, can’t acknowledge, but can never quite ignore.

She sees you tilt your head, exposing almost an exact dupe if the necklace Kamal gave her. Kamala wasn't sure how she got it, and why, the necklace that she gave you, the one that you left behind like a final, cruel reminder. The same necklace now glittering in the soft light of the Capitol, hanging around your neck as though it never left you.

You wear the same jewels that I gave you...

The thought catches her off guard, a lyric looping in her mind, one she would never speak out loud.

When the speeches begin, Kamala forces herself to focus, her smile polite, her posture perfect. But each word feels hollow, her mind stuck on you and the space you once filled in her life.

The applause swells as Diana steps up to the podium, the crowd eager to hear her charismatic opponent. Her words are sharp, filled with veiled criticisms of Kamala’s administration. Diana hated Kamala, and everyone knew. But beneath the polished rhetoric lies a subtle jab, an insinuation only you and Kamala recognize—a reference to “priorities shifted in private chambers.”

The crowd chuckles, oblivious. Kamala’s fingers curl around the stem of her wine glass, white-knuckled. She felt her blood boil.

After the speeches, the reception breaks into smaller groups, alliances forming in the shadows. You slip away for a moment, the noise and tension suffocating. You always hated places with too many people so you find yourself in a quiet hallway lined with portraits of past leaders, their eyes seeming to judge your every move. You hated half of those men but who cares, half of them was dead already.

"Avoiding me already?"

You turn sharply. Kamala stands there, the sharp and ugly light casting long shadows between you two. Her eyes, usually so composed, are clouded with something unreadable.

"Didn’t realize you wanted my company," you reply, the edge in your voice barely restrained. You did not want to talk with her.

"I didn’t think you’d bring her here," she says, voice low but steady.

"Didn’t think you’d care, plus, she brought me here- I wouldn't come on my own." you retort.

Kamala takes a step closer, the air between you electric. "It’s not about care. It’s about discretion."

You scoff, crossing your arms. "Discretion? Like ending things over a duty you chose? I’m just following your example—making alliances for the good of the country."

Her jaw clenches, a flicker of hurt crossing her face before she masks it again. "She’s using you," Kamala says quietly. "You know that, right?"

"And you didn’t?" you shoot back. In the moment it felt like Kamala did use you to be fair.

The silence is thick, words hanging unsaid.

"I never used you," she finally whispers, the vulnerability in her voice startling.

You shake your head, exhaustion seeping into your bones. You wanted to cut the conversation as short as possible. "It surely seemed like it, althought doesn’t matter now, does it?"

Kamala’s eyes drop to the necklace around your neck, her fingers twitching as if she wants to reach out but knows she can’t.

"I can’t stop thinking about you," she admits, each word a careful confession.

You swallow hard, refusing to let her see the way your hands tremble. You weren't expecting her to say that. But it was too late for confessions now.

"That’s your problem now," you say, turning away before she can see the tears welling up in your eyes.

Later on you find Doug in a quieter corner of the reception, away from the crowd and the scrutiny. His gentle smile is a balm to your wounded pride, a reminder that not everyone in Kamala’s life is calculating or cruel. To put it shortly, Kamala and Doug's relationship was weird. You weren't sure what was even going on inbetween them. But Doug clearly never cared for Kamala having an affair so you never bothered either.

"Quite the show tonight," he remarks, offering you a glass of water from the pitcher that stood on the little table.

You manage a weak chuckle, accepting his offer. "You have no idea."

Doug’s gaze is soft but searching. "Actually, I think I do."

The two of you fall into easy conversation, the kind that feels almost normal—almost like the world outside these walls hasn’t fallen apart. He talks about his latest charity project, you about your attempts to find new meaning in the chaos Kamala left behind. You didn't want to exacly vent- but sometimes it just comes way naturally.

"We’re just the ghosts, aren’t we?" Doug says suddenly, eyes distant. "Haunting her, but never really seen."

It’s the most honest thing anyone’s said to you all night.

"Yeah," you murmur, the word heavy with shared understanding. "I guess we are."