Behind Closed doors

Chapter 35

The white house

Kamala sat at her desk, the soft glow of the Christmas lights from the window casting a warm hue over the dark wood. A stack of final guest lists, seating arrangements, and security updates cluttered her desk, but her mind was elsewhere.

Her fingers tapped idly against the armrest of her chair as she stared at the event agenda. It all felt so... manufactured. She knew what was expected of her tonight—warm smiles, gracious greetings, a picture-perfect First Family standing together beneath the grand White House Christmas tree.

She barely heard the knock before the door swung open.

Doug stood there, hands in the pockets of his suit, his expression carefully neutral. But Kamala knew better. Beneath that controlled exterior was a man who was still seething.

"Busy?" he asked casually, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

Kamala sighed, setting down her pen. "What do you want, Doug?"

Doug let out a short, humorless chuckle. "Oh, I don't know, Kamala. Maybe to discuss how exactly we're going to play house tonight in front of the entire country."

Kamala leaned back in her chair, leveling him with a cool stare. "The same way we've always done, Doug. We smile, we shake hands, we pretend everything is just fine."

Doug scoffed. "Right. Except this time, our kids know that you cheated on their father with a woman half her age."

Kamala's jaw clenched. "Doug can you not."

" What ? " Doug sneered. "She's Ella's age, for God's sake."

Kamala felt her stomach twist at that, but she refused to show it. "Did you tell them?"

Doug's lips curled into a smirk. "Oh, I didn't have to. You think kids their age don't have eyes? Don't see the way you look at her? The way you stopped looking at me a long time ago?"

Kamala swallowed hard, but her voice remained steady. "How did they take it?"

Doug's smirk faded into something darker. "What do you think? They're hurt. Confused. I mean, can you blame them? Their stepmother—the first female President of the United States—turned out to be a liar. A cheater. A fraud."

Kamala's nails dug into the armrest of her chair. "Don't you dare stand there and act like you were the perfect husband, Doug."

Doug snorted. "Maybe not, but I kept my vows. And I didn't throw away our marriage for a glorified security guard."

Kamala stood then, her chair scraping against the floor as she stepped around her desk. She was inches from him now, her voice low and deadly. "Watch your mouth."

Doug let out an exaggerated sigh. "Relax, Madam President. I'm not going to expose your little affair. You made your position clear—you don't answer to me. You're the fucking President," he mocked, mimicking her words from their last fight.

Kamala exhaled slowly, reigning in the anger bubbling beneath the surface. "Then why are you here, Doug?"

Doug shrugged. "Just wanted to see if you're ready for the mess you created. The kids are coming tonight, Kamala. They'll smile for the cameras, but when the flashes are gone? Good luck getting through to them."

Kamala's chest ached, but she refused to let Doug see it. She lifted her chin, her voice controlled. "I'll handle it."

Doug gave her a slow, almost pitying look before shaking his head. "Yeah. You do that."

Without another word, he turned and strode out of her office.

Kamala let out a long breath before following, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She adjusted her posture, straightened her blazer, and schooled her features into the composed, elegant expression expected of her.