𝖥𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋？

Chapter 4

The next morning, Amanda walked into the office with a tired sigh, scratching her head. She was hungry and annoyed. She had left the house without grabbing anything to eat. Dropping into her chair, she opened the file for the day and stared at the empty folder. Absolutely nothing. Her irritation rose as she looked toward the door.

"Beth!" she called loudly. Her assistant, Elizabeth, stepped inside with a smile.

"Well, good morning to you too!"

"Why don't I have any work? Like, none at all?" Amanda asked, closing the empty folder with a snap.

"I was told to clear your schedule," Beth replied, glancing toward the window.

"By who?" Amanda demanded. "And why are you listening to people who aren't me?"

"Uh..because when the President asks you to do something, you do it?" Beth shrugged helplessly.

"Right. Next time, run it by me before you actually do it," Amanda said, rising from her chair.

She walked past Elizabeth, heading straight toward the President's office. She hadn't planned what she was going to say ,she was too furious to think clearly. It was bad enough she already had minimal work. But to take all of it away? Unacceptable.

Without knocking, Amanda strode into Kamala's office. The President and her husband, Doug, were mid-argument, tension heavy in the air. Amanda raised an eyebrow and smirked, lowering herself casually onto the couch.

"Oh, don't mind me," she said sweetly, eyes fixed on her phone. "Amanda, I'm clearly dealing with something," Kamala snapped. "Don't mind me," Amanda repeated lightly. "Just act like I'm not here."

Kamala's jaw tightened. "Doug, give us a minute."

Doug chuckled bitterly and walked out. Amanda didn't look up until the door closed behind him. Kamala poured herself a glass of scotch.

"There's a video," Kamala said flatly.

"Video?" Amanda asked.

"Well, right now it's a picture. But soon it will be a video."

"Of what?" Amanda's patience was thinning.

"Of us," Kamala said, downing her drink. "Kissing."

Amanda went still. "How?" she started, then sighed sharply. "Don't answer that."

She stood, her gaze drifting to the security camera mounted above them.

"I'll handle it," she said, already walking toward the door.

"No," Kamala countered. "You are pregnant. I'll handle it. You don't need any stress."

She motioned Amanda closer, moving toward the balcony doors where the cameras wouldn't reach.

"They haven't realized it's you yet," Kamala continued carefully.

"That means I have time," Amanda said, already reaching for her phone.

Her phone began to vibrate rapidly. Dozens of calls. Unknown numbers.

"Shit. They know."

"So your mother must know," she added under her breath.

"You're worried about your mother?" Kamala said sharply. "There are people out there getting ready to smother you. No rules out there."

"Yes, but that's not my concern," Amanda replied. "Why would I care about what people think of me?"

"That's where you go wrong," she continued, crossing her arms. "You do care. You care more than anyone."

"I have to care," Kamala said. "And you should too. Our names are on the line. My office is on the line."

Amanda's phone began to ring again. Sebastian's name flashed on the screen. She answered.

"How bad?" she asked.

"It's bad," Sebastian said. "Her team is already building a kill folder. The press is on fire."

Laila joined the call. "Rose, it's everywhere."

"Can we wipe the video?" Amanda asked, turning her back to Kamala.

"No. Half the world has seen it already," Sebastian said. "No one is going to forget this."

"I don't care. Get it gone," she ordered. "I will not have people—specifically men—using it as porn. I don't care what you do, get it gone."

She hung up and turned back to Kamala.

"You and Doug need to sit down for an interview. Together. He needs to publicly forgive you. Frame it as a mistake that won't affect your presidency."

"But was it really a mistake?" Kamala asked softly.

"We don't have time to figure that out," Amanda replied, locking eyes with her.

Kamala stepped closer, pulling Amanda toward the corner of the room, out of the camera's view.

"Promise me one thing," Amanda said gently, resting her head against Kamala's shoulder. "You'll use the kill folder if it comes to that."

"I won't promise that," Kamala said immediately. "I will never do that to you."

"You have to," Amanda whispered. "You are the first woman in this office. Please don't be the last. If it comes to that, you need to end it."

Kamala hesitated, then finally, quietly: "Okay. I promise."

Amanda nodded, beginning to step away, until Kamala pulled her back by the waist.

"Try not to stress. And make sure you eat," Kamala murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Okay, mother," Amanda groaned softly, returning the kiss before finally gathering her things and walking toward the door never once looking back she knew she couldn't but god did she want too.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

When Amanda walked back into her office, she stopped abruptly. Doug was standing in the center of the room. One of her eyebrows arched in surprise, though she quickly masked it with a neutral expression.

"Did you need something?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

"I wanted to ask you," Doug began, clasping his hands behind his back, "is this the first time with my wife?"

Amanda's expression didn't change. "Why are you asking me?" she replied flatly."I don't have an answer for you. Go ask your wife." I said.

"Well, you two have been getting pretty close," he said, tilting his head. "Last night she didn't come home. I was just checking here first."

"That sounds like a you-and-your-wife problem," Amanda responded, her annoyance creeping through. "One that has absolutely nothing to do with me. Maybe go discuss that with Kamala."

"You're right," Doug said after a moment, nodding. He hadn't expected her bluntness.

He was bold arrogant, even. The kind of bold that came from entitlement rather than confidence. Could he have been the one to leak the video? As Amanda lowered herself into her chair and watched him walk out, the question nagged at her. Would he really have the guts to do something like that? And more importantly why? Money? Ego?

She grabbed the remote and turned on the television. Her name was plastered across every channel, headlines flashing in bold font, commentators arguing over her face.

She couldn't go home tonight. Her residence was undoubtedly surrounded.

Amanda let out a low groan, pressing her palms to her forehead. She wanted to scream. Desperately. But she couldn't not yet. And definitely not here.