The morning after was merciless.
Sunlight streamed through the blinds of Selena Alcaraz’s campaign headquarters, but it felt more like a spotlight than warmth. Outside, the street was crawling with cameras, microphones, and the restless hum of San Felipe’s press corps. Headlines had already bled across every screen:
“Madrigal–Alcaraz Alliance Rocks Vergara Stronghold”
“Governor’s Daughter Turns Against Former Flame”
“Vergara Heir Silent Amid Scandal”
Selena stood before the mirror in her office, adjusting the collar of her white blouse. White—neutral, untouchable, a shield of purity she no longer believed in but had to wear like armor. Her reflection stared back, fierce but tired, eyes still red from a night of war against herself.
“Selena, the press is already restless,” her aide wh
