Chapter 3 3

Morning light filtered through the heavy velvet curtains, slicing across the room like blades. Gina hadn't slept. She had spent the night cataloging memories, sharpening them into weapons.

A sharp knock on the door broke her concentration.

"Room service," a crisp female voice announced.

Gina tightened the sash of her torn robe and unlocked the door.

A woman pushed a silver cart into the room. She was tall, with sharp, angular features and dark hair pulled back into a severe bun. She wore a hotel uniform, but she moved like a soldier.

Gina recognized her instantly. Vesper. In her past life, Vesper was the shadow that stood behind Brandon Charles-his cleaner, his shield.

Vesper kicked the door shut with her heel. She didn't offer breakfast. Instead, she reached under the white tablecloth and pulled out a garment bag and a small, silver case.

"I'm Vesper," she said. Her voice was cool, efficient. "Mr. Charles has assigned me to you. Officially, I'm your new personal assistant. Harvard MBA, impeccable references, specialized in political image management."

Gina took the garment bag. It contained a structured Chanel suit-armor for the modern battlefield.

"He moves fast," Gina said.

"He moves effectively," Vesper corrected. She opened the silver case. Inside were small vials and brushes. "Sit. We need to sell the narrative."

Gina sat. Vesper worked quickly, applying a cold gel to Gina's neck and wrists. Within seconds, the gel darkened, blooming into realistic-looking purple and yellow bruises.

"Contusions consistent with rough handling," Vesper explained clinically. "Visible enough to garner sympathy, subtle enough to be covered if necessary."

Gina looked in the mirror. She looked like a victim. Perfect.

"Here." Vesper handed her a tiny, flesh-colored earpiece. "This replaces the one he gave you last night. It's smaller. Undetectable. Tap twice to activate."

Gina inserted the device. It vanished into her ear canal. "I don't expect him to save me, Vesper. I just need ammunition."

"Good," Vesper said, packing up her kit. "Because if you become a liability, my orders are to neutralize you."

Gina smiled. It was a cold, sharp thing. "Understood."

Half an hour later, they walked out of the hotel.

A swarm of paparazzi was waiting. Hansford had tipped them off. He wanted the world to see his wife leaving the hotel, looking disheveled, fueling rumors of a breakdown or a scandal he could later manipulate.

Flashbulbs exploded like lightning.

"Mrs. Burris! Mrs. Burris! Is it true the Senator is meeting with the NSA?"

Gina shrank back, pulling her collar open just enough to reveal the "bruise" on her neck. She looked terrified. She let her hand tremble as she reached for the car door.

Vesper stepped in front of her, shoving a camera lens away with practiced aggression. "Back off! Give her space!"

They dove into the waiting limousine. The door slammed shut, cutting off the noise.

Gina leaned back against the leather seat. Her trembling stopped instantly. Her face went blank.

"Did they get the shot?" she asked.

Vesper checked her phone. "Trending on Twitter already. 'Senator's Wife Looks Shaken Leaving St. Regis.' The speculation is wild. Hansford will think he controls the narrative, but the bruises tell a different story to the observant."

The car wound its way out of the city, heading toward the Virginia countryside. Toward the Burris Estate.

The iron gates loomed ahead, black spikes against the grey sky. The house was a Victorian monstrosity of dark brick and ivy, a place where secrets went to rot.

The car stopped in the circular driveway.

Mrs. Higgins, the estate manager, was waiting on the steps. She was a sour-faced woman who had served Elberta Berger for thirty years. She hated Gina. In the past, she had made Gina's life a misery of petty cruelties.

Gina stepped out of the car.

Higgins didn't bow. She didn't smile. She stood with her hands clasped, blocking the entrance.

"The Senator is on a call," Higgins said, her voice dripping with disdain. "And Old Mrs. Berger is waiting for you in the drawing room. She is not pleased with your... public display."

Gina adjusted her sunglasses. She walked up the steps until she was standing on the step above Higgins, looking down.

"Move, Higgins," Gina said. Her voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of a tombstone.

Higgins blinked, startled. "Excuse me?"

"You're blocking my path," Gina said. She took off her sunglasses, revealing eyes that held zero fear. "And tell the kitchen I want lunch served in my room. Now."

She didn't wait for an answer. She shouldered past the stunned woman and walked into the belly of the beast.