The sun was unforgiving in its insistence that today was beautiful.
Emily Karanell stepped out of the car, her cream-colored dress catching the wind like a fragile sail. The breeze flirted with the hem, but her spine stayed stiff, her smile picture-perfect—designed not for joy, but for headlines. Brian’s hand pressed against her lower back with the same calculated warmth he gave to party donors.
They posed beneath the crimson-gold flag of the Imperium, the cameras flashing like firecrackers. Emily’s smile widened.
Her eyes never touched his.
Inside the Minority Affairs Center, a hum of polished speeches filled the air. Brian’s campaign team had arranged every detail: the ethnic banners, the strategically placed community leaders, the media crew instructed to capture “soft strength” ang
