His Political Lie, My Shattered Love

ce

and flashing cameras, was a battlefield I couldn't face. Cole was gone, vanished since the auction debacle. His absence

ence at the annual Nixon Family Thanksgiving dinner. It wasn't an invitation; it was an order, delivered by a ste

ready? You look... pale." He tried to touch my cheek, but I flinched away. He pretended not to notice. "Ab

ed to even pretend to care. I jus

drove up the long, winding driveway, the oppressive weight of their po

ng table. Her eyes, sharp and unforgiving, raked over me. Beside her sat Kiara, radiating smug confidence, w

ugh the room like ice. "So glad you could make it. We were worr

. "Grandmother, Grace isn't feeling enti

xon woman always puts family first, regardless of ailme

orite poet, carefully sourced and wrapped. I had spent weeks find

all package, "I know how much you adore p

ce has such exquisite taste, Grandmother. She always knows ju

e, nestled on a bed of tissue paper, was not the poetry book, but a cheap,

ted into a furious scowl. "What is this insolence?" she hissed, her voice trembling with barely

swapped. Someone had replaced my thou

your poets. Perhaps... perhaps this is what Grace really thinks of you." She then produced a beautifully wrapped package from behind her

recognized the rare volume. "Kiara, my dear, you are truly a gem. Un

blic execution. Cole stood by, silent, his face carefully bla

nothing. No anger, no sadness. Just a desire to e

king figures in dark suits, Nixon fam

ice devoid of warmth. "Lady Eleanor has not dismissed you. And after tha

turned to Cole, my e

ubtle shrug of his shoulders. "Grace,

ing me. Again. He wouldn't lif

ck at the security guards. "Very well," I said

, damp. A single, bare bulb cast harsh shadows. A heavy leather strap hung

ree. Each strike a reminder of their cruelty, their power, their absolute control. But with each a

m pay. I would m

ed. I wouldn't break. I couldn't. I had to focus. Focus on the

the darkness, a single thought blossomed in my min