HIS FIRST LADY(SANDRO MARCOS)

Chapter 37: See Yourself How Sandro Sees You

That bastard got me all worked up and then hung up on me! Seriously, leave my husband and be with him? As if it's that simple! What an absolute jerk. Why did I even think to call him? I should've known he'd pull something like this. But... hold on.

I glance at myself in the rearview mirror and frown. Sure, I'm frustrated, but I also feel... better? Before I called Sandro, I was a wreck. Garnar had said such awful things, pushing me to the brink. But now, aside from the sexual tension, I actually feel okay. Did Miles do that on purpose?

He did. He actually helped me.

Feeling steadier, I start the car and drive the rest of the way to Cynthia's. By the time I pull into her driveway, I'm almost back to normal. Sure, I'll probably need to take care of myself later, but everything feels manageable. Honestly, this isn't even that unusual since meeting Miles. He's sparked something in me that I can't easily ignore.

"Esther, is that you? Come have a glass of wine with me," Cynthia calls from the kitchen.

I follow her voice and sit at one of the stools by the kitchen island. She pours me a half-glass of chardonnay. I motion for her to fill it more. She raises an eyebrow but obliges.

"Long day?" she asks.

"You could say that."

"Did the event not go well?"

I reach into my purse and pull out the crumpled job offer letter, sliding it across the counter. Cynthia pops the cork back into the wine bottle and stashes it in the fridge before picking up the letter. "What's this? And why does it look like it's been through a war?" She opens it, scanning the contents. Her eyes go wide. "Esther, what is this?"

"I got a new job."

"I'll say you did!"

I spend the next hour recounting the day's events, from dealing with those drunk guests to my run-in with Hugo and how it all ended. Cynthia's thrilled when she hears that Miles stepped in to help, but she's disappointed when I admit I sent him away.

When I get to the part about Garnar, she can't hold back any longer.

"That man is unbelievable! How dare he say those things to you, especially when he's the one cheating! Seriously, how are you so calm right now?"

"I called Miles on my way here," I confess.

"What?" Her eyes nearly pop out of her head.

I gloss over the details, not wanting to dive into the steamier parts. "He helped me feel better."

"So, you're not actually done with him, huh?" She smirks as she takes a sip of her wine.

I want to argue, but I can't. "Whatever this is with Miles, it isn't healthy for either of us."

Cynthia scoffs. "Stop selling yourself short, Esther." I blush, but thankfully, she doesn't push further. Instead, she eyes the letter again. "Congratulations on the new job. It's about time you start using that degree."

"I doubt I'll be doing anything glamorous right away," I say. "Given how I got the job, I'll have to prove myself before they take me seriously."

"That won't be a problem," Cynthia says. "You're good at everything you do. You'll blow them away."

I wish I shared her confidence. I know I'm capable, but I've been out of the field for so long. I'm ready to work hard, but I know it'll be an uphill climb.

Cynthia doesn't seem concerned. "I wouldn't be surprised if they put you on air sooner than you think."

"There's no way they'd put me in front of a camera," I say, shaking my head. I'm no beauty queen. No one's tuning in just to see me.

"There you go again, underestimating yourself," Cynthia says, her voice firm. "I hate what Garnar has done to you. He's spent years chipping away at your confidence. If you could just see yourself the way others do... the way Miles does..."

I shake my head. "To Miles, I'm just a game. Nothing more."

Cynthia grabs another bottle of wine from the fridge. "I wouldn't be so sure."

Later that night, I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, staring at my reflection. For a moment, I try to see what Cynthia sees. I look past the fine lines and the few grays, searching for the woman I used to be—the vibrant, ambitious person I was in college. Back then, I was outspoken and confident, bursting with dreams. When did that change? When did I let myself fade into the background?

I brush my hair, attempting to style it like the anchors on TV. I picture myself sitting in front of a camera.

It's silly. I shouldn't even entertain the thought.

But... with the right lighting and some makeup... maybe I could be camera-ready.

Of course, Hugo would never go for it. I'd have to work twice as hard to prove myself.

But maybe I'm up for that challenge.

Instead of wondering why they'd put me in front of a camera, maybe I should start asking, why not me?

Am I not Esther Graham? No... Esther Owens, daughter of my adoptive father, groomed to shine in the political and social spotlight.

It's strange to stand here, excited about the future, making plans and setting goals. When was the last time I let myself think about my own aspirations, not just my family's needs?

With a newfound bounce in my step, I change into my pajamas. Today had its ups and downs, but it's left me feeling hopeful.

I can move forward now. I can start dreaming again.

Just then, my phone buzzes with a text. My nerves tingle. What now?

I should ignore it. I want to hold onto this positive feeling a little longer. But the message already killed the mood. Leaving it unread will only make it worse—who knows what kind of disaster it could be.

Unlocking my phone, I breathe a sigh of relief when I see it's not from Garnar. Instead, it's from my adoptive mother:

**Dinner tomorrow. 7 p.m. Garnar won't be there.**

No pleasantries, just straight to the point. While this isn't out of character for my family, something about it puts me on edge.

I should be glad they're accepting my separation from Garnar. But something still feels... off. I can't shake the unease as I send a quick reply and head to bed.

For some reason, I feel like I'm about to walk straight into a lion's den.