Chapter 2

The power outage was so massive, so suspiciously timed, that it became a national security issue. The media went into a frenzy. My "last words" accusing a high-ranking FBI agent and mentioning the First Lady were leaked, and the story exploded. The Department of Justice had no choice but to grant a stay of execution and launch an immediate, high-level investigation.

It didn't take them long. The real assassin, a disgruntled cabinet member with a grudge against the diplomat, was exposed. I was framed with manufactured evidence, and Matthew, blinded by his own narrative, had pushed the case through without a second thought.

I was exonerated.

A week later, I wasn't in a prison cell but in the Oval Office, facing the President of the United States. Matthew Scott stood beside the President' s chief of staff, his face a mask of stone-cold fury and humiliation. The First Lady, Elyse Todd, was there too, the picture of grace, her eyes holding a flicker of something I couldn't quite read.

"Ms. Fuller," the President said, his voice a low rumble. "The United States government offers its deepest apologies. We are prepared to offer a substantial compensation package for your ordeal."

I looked at him, then let my gaze drift to Matthew. I didn' t want money. I wanted blood.

"Mr. President," I started, my voice trembling with practiced weakness. "Compensation can' t bring back my reputation. It can' t erase the horror."

I took a shaky step forward, my eyes locking onto Matthew.

"I demand he be charged. Obstruction of justice. Conspiracy. He knew I was innocent. He railroaded me… because he hated that I loved him." I let a single, perfect tear roll down my cheek.

Matthew' s jaw clenched so hard I thought it would break. "That' s a lie!"

"Is it?" I sobbed, clutching my chest dramatically. "You knew how I felt! You used me for seven years!"

I swayed, my hand flying to my forehead. "I… I feel dizzy."

The President, alarmed, snapped his fingers. "Get the White House physician in here. Now."

The doctor did a quick check-up, his brow furrowed. He drew some blood. A few tense minutes later, he returned, looking directly at the President. "Sir, Ms. Fuller is not seriously ill. But she is pregnant. Approximately three months along."

The room went silent. Every eye was on me.

I lifted a trembling finger and pointed it directly at the stunned, horrified face of Matthew Scott.

"It' s his," I whispered, my voice thick with fake shame. "The FBI gala… there was so much alcohol. He… he took advantage of me. Then he tried to have me executed to get rid of me and the baby."

The implication hung in the air, thick and poisonous. A top FBI agent, whose obsession with the First Lady was a poorly kept secret in Washington' s inner circles, gets his subordinate pregnant and then frames her for a capital crime. The scandal would be catastrophic, linking him, and by extension Elyse, to a federal execution.

The President' s face was like granite. He saw the political fallout in a flash.

He looked from Matthew to Elyse, then to me. His decision was swift and brutal.

"There will be no charges," he declared. "And there will be no scandal."

He turned to Matthew. "You will marry Ms. Fuller. Immediately. A quiet ceremony at the courthouse. You will present a united front. This story dies today."

Matthew looked like he' d been shot. "Mr. President, I can' t-"

"You can, and you will," the President cut him off, his voice ice. "Or you will face the consequences. All of you."

His eyes flickered toward his wife, a clear, unspoken threat.

Elyse, for the first time, looked genuinely unnerved. She gave Matthew a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head. Do it.

And just like that, I was engaged to the man who tried to kill me. My inner producer purred with satisfaction.