Reporter

I stare directly into her light‑brown eyes. Leilani Kealoha is part Hawaiian, part Korean, mid‑twenties, seven years younger than me. We have history, seven years ago, she became my sugar baby. I don’t buy things for her anymore, but she still insists on staying close. She’s affectionate, playful, impossible to shake. She calls me “Pookie” like it’s my actual name. Now she’s standing at the debate moderator’s podium, firing ruthless questions at me, the kind meant to trip up a conservative man on everything from abortion to border security.

The audience thinks she’s grilling me including my fellow guests. But I know better, Two nights ago, she was at my ranch, feeding me a Hawaiian dessert while we went over every question together. My rebuttals tonight are sharp, historical, airtight because she made sure they would be. The other Democratic advisors are forgettable, ignorant on the issues and don't have history of interrupting people.

The exception is Jasmyn Ellison. The R&B superstar, she currently has two songs in the top five. She is the face that everyone recognizes. I can feel her presence across the studio. She’s staring at me with those icy blue eyes, though for some reason, I always remember them as green. Her complexion is deep and striking, and she looks… annoyed.

Very annoyed.

When the debate ends, Leilani steps forward with the final question about my future plans and my anti-democratic ideology, she hated asking question but she had ****. I simply rebuttal attacking her liberal views are not democratic.

The studio empties. Leilani disappears to her dressing room tucked away with the night‑talent rooms, all abandoned except hers. I’m heading toward it when someone blocks my path.

Jasmyn.

She steps in close, too close, her voice low and dangerous. “I don’t know what you have on her. But I’m not letting some powerful politician break my friend. You’re not going to destroy her. Let her go, or you’ll regret it.”

She leans in even closer. “You probably **** her to come to your room at that resort. But this ends now.”

She raises her hand, she’s about to slap me. The dressing‑room door swings open and Leilani steps out, immediately sliding between us. She grabs both of Jasmyn’s wrists and pulls her inside the room. She looks her friend dead in the eyes. “You have it very wrong about him. He’s nothing like your husband. He’s actually a white knight — and so much more. If anyone makes anyone do anything, it’s me.”

She pauses.

Her brown eyes flick to me and I know she’s about to reveal our secret. “You’re not going to trust my words completely,” she says to Jasmyn. “So meet me at his ranch tonight. Around seven. We’ll be alone — just a few staff leaving for the day. He won’t show up until eight. He has state senate business.”