Chapter 3: Old Lovers, New Lies

My name is Natalie Quinn, daughter of the current Secretary of Defense. Raised on military bases since childhood, I only moved back to D.C. at fourteen. I’m headstrong and rebellious.

The army brat stereotype never quite fit—I kept my hair in a messy ponytail, learned to shoot before I could parallel park, and never took orders kindly.

When Caleb was still a neglected congressman’s son, I had a brief affair with him.

We were both outsiders at those endless Beltway functions, hiding on back patios and trading sarcastic remarks about the powerful men in the next room.

—It ended with me seducing and abandoning him.

Even now, I could see the look in his eyes that last night, the hurt he tried to hide behind a forced laugh.

We didn’t part over anything dramatic; it was simply because he became president.

Suddenly, the stakes were too high, the world too public. I could hardly breathe without seeing my face speculated about on CNN.

I had no interest in sharing a partner with the whole country, nor did I intend to grow old behind White House walls.

The thought of a life measured in state dinners and photo ops made my skin crawl.

So I left a letter and ran away without hesitation.

A single page, hidden in his suit pocket, signed only with a lipstick kiss. I didn’t even wait to see if he read it.

Only recently did I sneak back home to D.C.

I’d spent a year living in Seattle, pretending I was just another tech worker, never mentioning my last name.

But I truly didn’t expect my reunion with Caleb to be like this.

The D.C. air always felt heavier, thick with politics and humidity. I’d barely been back a week before everything fell apart.

There was a rustling sound outside the residence. Security lights lined up like a string, glowing in sequence.

Through the window, I saw the familiar glint of earpieces—Secret Service, always on high alert, even at midnight.

Caleb was back.

My stomach flipped. Every memory rushed in all at once—his laughter, the warmth of his hand at the small of my back, the way he whispered my name.

I hurriedly sat up and straightened my messy hair clip.

My hands shook, but I managed to twist my hair up, tucking loose strands behind my ears just in time.

To avoid attention, I’d dressed as one of the White House staff tonight, even covering my face with a scarf in a clumsy attempt to hide.

The uniform hung awkwardly on my frame, and my scarf itched against my neck, but it was better than being recognized on a security feed.

Time had changed, and my feelings were truly conflicted.

Every memory scraped raw against the present; I wondered if he’d even recognize me, or just see a stranger in a borrowed jacket.

I wasn’t sure how Caleb would react upon seeing me.

He was unpredictable, even back when he was just Cal, not Mr. President.

Meeting an old lover is worse than meeting an enemy.

The dread twisted in my stomach—worse than facing down my old drill sergeant, worse than any campaign trail argument.

Maybe he’d lose it and throw me out, or have me arrested, making me and my brother a pair of fugitive siblings.

Great. We’d be the first siblings since the Nixon era to make national news for all the wrong reasons.

I pictured the headlines: "Quinn Siblings On The Run—Scandal In The West Wing." It almost made me laugh.

Or maybe he’d tie me up and humiliate and torment me…

I shivered, not daring to think further.

No amount of bravado could cover the fact that I was terrified.

At this point, I could only take a desperate gamble.

There were no cards left in my hand, just one last, reckless move.

I was the only one in the family with any chance of saving my brother.

The weight of it settled heavy in my chest. Everyone else was too known, too political, too vulnerable.

The voices outside the door quieted. I heard a familiar, cool voice: “Everyone out.”

His tone was as chilly and precise as ever, carrying the weight of command.

I couldn’t help but be stunned.

Even after becoming president, Caleb still hated having people hovering around him.

He’d once told me he liked his solitude, that silence was the only luxury left in this job.

The staff answered softly and gradually retreated. The door opened with a soft click.

Even the hinges sounded expensive. My hands fisted in my lap, knuckles white.

Footsteps drew closer and closer. My heart shrank into a ball, just like the comforter I was clutching.

I tried to slow my breathing, counting each step—a trick I’d learned back in basic.

Caleb stopped.

Through layers of white curtains, he seemed to sense something and looked in my direction.

My pulse skittered as his silhouette paused, tension thrumming in the air.

“Who’s there?”

His voice, calm but edged with suspicion, sliced through the hush of the room.