Chapter 9: The Price of Power

Looking at Caleb before me, I suddenly felt a bit dazed.

For a moment, it was like we were teenagers again, before the world intervened.

The Caleb of the past wasn’t like this.

He’d been shy, almost sweet, hiding his ambition beneath layers of awkwardness.

He was like a gentle breeze and a bright moon, pure and striking, as if painted in soft light, seemingly without any worldly desires.

Even the Beltway gossips used to say he was "too nice for politics." They didn’t know him like I did.

Until he met me.

I was the thunderstorm to his summer day, all chaos and challenge.

Back then, he returned from a political internship, an outcast among politicians’ sons; I had just moved to D.C., an outcast among military brats.

Two misfits, orbiting the edges of other people’s parties.

Two outcasts—it’s easy to become kindred spirits.

We found solace in each other’s silence, comfort in rebellion.

Sometimes, sparks fly in a single moment.

That’s how it was for us—one careless laugh, one too-long glance, and everything changed.

During our most passionate year, he was cautious with me, not even daring to kiss.

He blushed at every touch, as if the walls might gossip about us.

He said, “Even though people here are pretty open, stuff like this… it’s still a big deal for girls.”

He never could quite let go of old-fashioned notions, no matter how much I teased him.

I looked at him, puzzled.

“A big deal? Is it shameful for a woman to be honest about what she wants? I like, I want, I take. If you’re unwilling, I’ll find someone else.”

I loved the way his ears went pink whenever I shocked him with my honesty.

He got anxious: “Natalie!”

His voice always squeaked a little when he was flustered. I secretly delighted in it.

I frowned and covered my ears: “Why are you yelling? We’re both willing, our feelings are mutual, what’s so shameful about it?”

We’d had this argument in a dozen different forms, usually ending in laughter, sometimes in tears.

“People will talk.”

He was always more afraid of gossip than I was.

“People talked the day you were with me. Do you think they care if it’s true? If I was afraid of gossip, I wouldn’t have gotten involved with you in the first place.”

I had no patience for Beltway rumor mills.

“You may not care, but I have to be responsible. In these things, it’s always the woman who gets hurt,” Caleb said seriously, “It’s always the girl who gets burned, Nat.”

I refused to back down: “Only if you let them. I decide what matters to me, not some Beltway rumor.”

I meant every word. No one else’s opinion had ever mattered to me.

Caleb was speechless for a while, unable to argue.

His silence was always more telling than his words.

He sighed softly, looking at me without turning away: “But Nat, I hope you’ll consider giving me a real place in your life.”

The words were soft, vulnerable, the kind of plea he’d never make in public.

“Well,” I looked away, “let’s talk about it later.”

I dodged, like always, afraid to face what I might want.

He got anxious again: “Natalie!”

His voice cracked. I almost laughed, but the look in his eyes stopped me.

I tiptoed closer: “What, you want to marry me that badly?”

He blushed so hard I thought he might pass out, but he didn’t look away.

Caleb stood still, deep emotion in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “I want it so badly it’s driving me crazy.”

The confession hung in the air, fragile and fierce.

I was surprised by his rare honesty.

For once, I didn’t know what to say.

As I stared in shock, he quietly tightened his arms around me, his fingers pressing again and again behind my ear.

His touch was gentle, grounding me in the present.

“…You’re going to drive me mad.”

The words were half threat, half promise.

I blinked, unconcerned: “Really? Then I’m pretty impressive.”

I grinned, letting the moment linger between us.

Under the old oak tree, the leaves rustled like waterfalls.

The summer air was thick with the scent of grass and honeysuckle, the kind of night that stretched on forever.

Caleb turned his head to kiss me, so moved that even his eyelashes trembled.

His lips were soft, hesitant, reverent—the kind of kiss that could ruin a girl for anyone else.

“I’ll give you everything, so don’t look for someone else.”

His plea was soft, but in it I heard the promise of a thousand futures.