The Governor's Daughter

Beautiful Shadows

The door swung open before I even realized someone was approaching.

"Where is that little bitch...." She said as she walked in.

It was Evelyn my mother.She swept into the room with the type of energy that made the air shift. She always entered like she owned oxygen itself—never gently, never quietly.

“There she is,” she muttered, not even looking around before fixating on me. She didn’t need volume to be threatening; the coldness in her tone carried enough weight to crush glass.

Without waiting for an invitation, she sat on the edge of my bed, crossed one leg over the other, and stared at me. A long, piercing stare—like she was studying a specimen she didn’t particularly like. The room felt smaller instantly, her presence thick and suffocating in a way that made my muscles tense on instinct.

“b***h,” she began, her voice smooth but sharp. “You do realize your father and I have something major unfolding right now. The campaign is stabilizing, the polls are finally shifting in our favor, and we cannot afford distractions.” She leaned forward, her perfume overwhelming but cold, clinical. “Do not happen, Aria. Do not derail what we’ve built.Well, unless you want to see the b***h I can be.

Her words weren’t loud, but every syllable throbbed with warning. Then she reached out and lifted my chin, not gently—her fingers pinching just enough to make the message clear. “Have I made myself understood, girl?”

“Yes,” I muttered.

She let go and stood immediately, already done with me. Her presence always felt like a storm—loud even in silence, messy even when she was perfectly dressed. When she finally walked out, I felt the oxygen return to my lungs in slow, shaky waves. Relief washed over me so intensely my shoulders dropped without my permission.

For a moment, I simply sat there, staring at the closed door. Then I turned to Roman, who had remained near the wall, calm and unreadable as always.

“Tell me something,” I said. “Do you think my parents are good people?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely. I believe they are. And so do the American people.” His tone was professional, neutral.

I snorted. “Bullshit.”

He blinked, thrown off for the first time. I continued, my frustration bubbling too close to the surface. “You think all this is real? They act like the perfect couple on TV, but the truth is far uglier. Their whole marriage is a staged performance. An embellished falsehood.”

Roman’s brows knit slightly. “I haven’t observed anything unusual, ma’am.”

“Oh, please.” I pointed toward the hallway. “You’re telling me you don’t hear that?”

He paused. Listened. But he shook his head.

I sighed, exasperated. “It always starts the same way. One loud noise, then another, then another. Not shouting—never shouting. They don’t argue with voices. They…clash in other ways.”

He shifted uneasily, as though uncertain how deeply he was allowed to step into this conversation.

“Well,” I said, standing from the bed, “today’s episode has lasted longer than usual. Maybe you and your men should go check on them.”

Roman studied me for a moment, then nodded respectfully and left the room. His footsteps faded down the hall. The house felt too large in his absence, every sound suddenly amplified.

A few seconds passed—silent, tense. Then I stepped out of my room.

Dr. Maya, the mansion’s on-call physician, was already in the hallway. She adjusted her glasses nervously as she hurried toward the private wing. And then my father appeared, walking briskly behind her, face tight but composed.

I didn’t need anyone to tell me what happened. I could read the energy in the air, the urgency, the discomfort.

My mother must’ve been hurt this time.

Somewhere deep inside me—a place I don’t talk about—something twisted. A strange mix of vindication and guilt. Seeing a person who tormented you falter, even a little… brought a feeling I didn’t like admitting. Relief. The tiniest drop of satisfaction. Not pride—just release.

Some days she won. Some days were draws.

But today was different.

Roman returned a moment later. “Your mother will be fine, ma’am,” he said calmly. “They’re expected to leave for Georgia as planned. The Campaign will run through the week till Saturday .”

Before I could reply, the television in the hallway flickered with breaking news. CNN’s political correspondent was speaking:

“Governor Donovan of Texas and Democratic Senator Rivera remain locked in a tight race for the White House. New polling across seven battleground states shows Governor Donovan with a narrow 0.5% national lead—a margin that could significantly impact the Electoral College. Grant Donovan is scheduled to campaign in Georgia on Monday, while Senator Rivera prepares for a town hall in Arizona.”

I exhaled slowly. “Poor American people,” I murmured.