Barron Trump and The Latin Girl

8)Trending Trouble

Please vote or comment on the chapter. It helps a lot!

The clock on the wall showed 8 AM when one of the aides rushed into the Oval Office. The room, which had been quiet while Donald Trump reviewed some papers, was suddenly interrupted.

— Mr. President, we have a problem.

Trump looked up, annoyed, pushing the documents aside.

— What is it now?

The aide, a slim man in a perfectly tailored suit, hesitated. He took a deep breath and slid a tablet across the desk toward the former president.

— Your son is trending on Twitter.

Trump frowned and grabbed the device, turning up the volume on the video that was already playing. The screen showed Barron Trump, tall and unmistakable, dancing with a young woman in the middle of a packed dance floor. The club's flashing lights illuminated them intermittently. The girl had her arms around his neck, their bodies moving close, intimate.

The video was no longer than fifteen seconds, but it already had millions of views.

"Trump's youngest son caught partying with a college friend!"
"Barron Trump breaks protocol and gets involved in a scandal!"
"Who is the mystery girl with Trump's heir?"

Isabela Walker's name wasn't mentioned in any of the news reports or social media posts.

Trump slammed the tablet on the desk.

— What the hell is this?

The aide remained silent, choosing his words carefully.

— Sir, the video went viral overnight. It was recorded last night at a club in New York.

— And why the hell didn't anyone tell me sooner?!

— We were monitoring it, but the buzz exploded overnight. The video was reposted by big accounts, and now the press picked it up.

Trump ran a hand over his face, irritated.

— This is a problem. A huge problem. My son grinding on some random girl in public? At least I gotta admit, she's hot. My boy's got taste. He really takes after his old man.

The aide remained silent.

— Sir, the girl in the video is Isabela Walker.

Trump's frown deepened.

— Who?!

— Isabela Walker. John Walker's daughter. Your head of security.

Trump leaned back in his chair.

— John Walker... my chief bodyguard?

— The one and only.

Before he could fully process it, the door swung open again. This time, John Walker himself entered, his steps firm, his expression dark. Unlike Trump, who was still in a gold silk robe over his dress shirt, Walker was already in full professional attire, like he was on a mission.

— Sorry for barging in, but this... this must be some kind of mistake, — Walker said, refusing to believe what the media was reporting.

Trump crossed his arms, eyeing the other man with a smirk.

— Looks like our kids decided to put on their own little show.

Walker clenched his jaw.

— My daughter doesn't get involved in scandals.

— And yet, here we are.

Walker picked up the tablet from the desk and hit play. His jaw tensed even more as he watched.