The Governor 's secret

pte

Garden

gola's icy marble wall. It was spontaneous fire. Under the stars, bodies speaking without words, skin against skin. He spoke softly to her: > "You are the secret needed for this mansion." > "And you are the risk about which I was warned." That night, they did not in the traditional sense fall in love. However, it was only the beginning. The ache of wanting more, a touch at the base of her neck, a hand that went too long along her thigh. They were more restrained than they were indulgent. Meetings scheduled in empty committee rooms, glances across Senate Hall, and untraceable texts sent from burner phones filled the days and weeks that followed. They gave in completely at Victor's private beachside retreat, a modern hideaway surrounded by guard towers and pine trees. Grilled peaches, hand-tossed salad, and white wine-marinated scallops were his own creations for dinner. She wore nothing under her white silk robe. They drank, laughed, and argued about a bill that, according to her, favored the wealthy. While her robe slowly fell to the ground, he challenged her to rewrite it on the kitchen island. They fell in love as though they had nothing to hide and everything to lose. He said that she was "my undoing." He was dubbed "a tyrant with a heart" by her. As they lay entangled in heat and linen, Victor traced his fingers along her back. > "If Verloria was aware of what we were doing..." "They would vote you out in shaming and me out in handcuffs," I said. He continued, "And still, I'd do it again." Not only was it passionate, but it was also secretive obsession. Isabella never made the claim that he was not a danger. However, he touched a part of her that no ambition could ever touch when he touched her. Their love was both a crime and a form of currency in Verloria City, where everything had a price. Isabella Monroe had struggled for a decade to rise to the top of investigative reporting. Her stories not only made headlines, but they also toppled entire empires. However, she had been unprepared for Governor Victor Langston in her career. Victor was the Eastbridge politics' golden boy. He was charming, articulate, and impossible to write down. He put people in a trance with his tailored suits and piercing speech. However, Isabella detected shadows beneath the polished surface. She had followed Victor around since the anonymous tip, writing in her notebook while pretending to cheer. She was most troubled by more than just the rumors of bribery and extortion. It was Damien Cross, a name she'd buried with her past, the familiar face she saw as she left a private fundraiser one evening. Victor's circle of friends was tightly knit. Eleanor Langston, his wife of twenty years, was at the center. Eleanor played the supportive First Lady with the finesse of a seasoned actress, elegant and calculated. She was Victor's sharpest strategist and fiercest protector behind closed doors. Eleanor hated surprises, and she hated it even more when journalists looked around her husband. The head of the Eastbridge Police Department was then Chief Albert Donovan. He was a straight-talking officer who was dedicated to maintaining order in public. In private, he was Victor's enforcer-a person who resolved inconvenient issues. When Isabella got too close to the truth, Donovan would frequently show up, but his smile never reached his eyes. The puppet master was Victor's campaign adviso