THE SUICIDE

Chapter Six : A Throne Too High

The results came in on a stormy evening. Mr. Delacroix had won by a landslide.

The country rejoiced. News anchors called it “the dawn of a new era.” His victory speech was hailed as visionary, his charisma unmatched. Flags flew, cities lit up, and promises were made.

From that moment on, Mr. Delacroix was no longer just a man, he was Governor Delacroix, a symbol of hope, strength, and reform. He tackled crime with fierce policy, restructured the economy with precision, and hosted world leaders like a seasoned diplomat. His name echoed in homes across the nation as a man who “got things done.”

But within the walls of the Delacroix mansion, the air grew colder.

Governorship consumed him. His days began before sunrise with briefings, and ended past midnight with meetings and classified calls. His wife, the ever-elegant First Lady, was equally preoccupied with charity galas, diplomatic teas, and public appearances. Together, they were an unshakable political force admired, envied, and almost mythic in stature. Except for Juliet.

To Juliet, they were shadows. People she only saw in newspapers and on screens. Their hugs were rare and stiff, their conversations rehearsed. Her questions were met with “Not now, sweetheart,” or “Daddy’s busy—go talk to your mother.” And her mother, flawless in pearls and pressed dresses, would simply smile and say, “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

No one noticed that Juliet stopped talking as much. No one asked why she started locking her door. No one paid attention when she began spending more time alone, even with the whole world watching their family.

The more the world praised Governor Delacroix, the more his daughter faded into the background—like an afterthought in a perfectly written speech.

He had gained the people’s love, the power he craved, and the legacy he sought. But in the quiet corners of his golden home, his daughter was drifting further away, unseen and unheard.