Private Resort.

She’s striking in a way that feels engineered. Dark eyes, a posture so straight it’s a challenge, and a fitted jacket over a short dress that leaves nothing to the imagination regarding her legs. They’re long and toned—sexy, sure—but there’s a functional power to them, the kind of muscle built from grueling daily training. They aren't an invitation; they're a quiet reminder that she could crush the life out of me without breaking a sweat.

I try to keep my eyes on her face, but my focus is fraying. I have to **** myself to stay present.

“State Senator,” she says. Her voice is warm, a disarming contrast to the clinical precision of her appearance. “It’s good to finally meet you properly.”

I clear my throat, the sound feeling small in the cavernous suite. “You know who I am?”

Her lips curve—not into a smile, but into a professional acknowledgment that feels like being filed away in a cabinet. “Of course. Charlotte’s talked about you for years. And I actually saw you once, long before you met her. I was touring Ivy League campuses with her, deciding where to go. You were giving a speech about gun rights.” She pauses, her eyes searching mine. “It was… surprisingly moving. Almost changed my mind. The whole campus was buzzing—some agreeing with you, most furious. It was something to see.”

I frown. The timeline doesn't sit right. I only met Charlotte a year ago—the same night she’s now using as a lever to **** me into this room.

Naomi lightly takes my arm. Her touch is feather-light but feels like a shackle. “I still can’t believe you were only twenty-two when you gave that speech.”

My mind flickers back to the last six months—the spiraling, the stumbling, the slow-motion car crash of my career that I’m too ashamed to voice. I let out an uneasy laugh. She’s trying to unbalance me with nostalgia, and it’s working.

“I didn’t think anyone remembered that,” I mutter.

“Oh, people remember,” she says, her tone dropping into something more intimate. “Charlotte especially. She said you had presence even back then. I think it’s what pushed her to get into the political ring—knowing there were people like you on the other side. She used to fantasize about debating you on a bigger stage.”

“And now everything has fallen apart,” I murmur, the words escaping before I can catch them.

Naomi doesn't flinch. She steps closer, still warm, still pouring on the flattery like a balm. “You carry yourself well. It’s not too late to show how great you can be. Even now. Most people walking into a meeting like this would look nervous.”

Then, her voice goes softer, almost confessional. “I’m nervous to be in your presence, if I’m honest.”

She lets that lie hang in the air between us, giving it room to breathe. “You could still be a great man. You just need the right political team behind you. It’s clear your current one isn't doing you any favors.”

It’s subtle, but I can feel the hook sinking in. She’s lifting me up just enough to make the ground feel steady again, making me believe, for a fleeting second, that I actually belong in a place this expensive.

Then she turns toward the interior of the suite. As she releases my arm, the warmth vanishes. The mask shifts, and the air in the room suddenly feels very, very cold.