Romero speaks

He reached out, his hand hovering a few inches from her cheek. Isabella resisted the urge to recoil, forcing herself to stand still, her eyes locked on his.

"You've done well," Romero said softly. "How you've grown, little princess."

The childhood nickname stung, bringing back memories of playing in her father's study, hiding beneath his desk, and sitting on his knee. A wave of sadness washed over her, followed by a surge of anger. Her father had trusted this man, and left her to fend for herself. Men who she once saw as extended family now see her as a piece of meat, to divide and share as spoils.

"Do not call me that again, Secretary Romero. I am your Presidente now. I expect you to treat me with the same respect due to my father," she replied, her voice firm despite her trembling body.

Romero chuckled, shaking his head. "So quick to anger, just like your father."

Isabella opened her mouth to reply, but Romero cut her off. "But you are not your father, and that is the problem."

Isabella's throat tightened, her heart hammering in her chest. "I don't know what you mean, Secretary," she stammered.

Romero sighed, his hand finally touching her face, tracing her jawline with a bony finger. "The Constitution names you as the interim-Presidente, yes, but it is an imperfect thing. Julián intended to be alive and present when he retires, overseeing your ascension. Making sure your enemies stand no chance as you find your footing. That is why he included an national election, 12 months into the interim-presidency. A chance for you to prove yourself, and easily rigged should you prove a disappointment..."

His fingers trailed down her neck, sending shivers down her spine. Isabella stood frozen, unable to move, unable to think.

"But without him, what is stopping the Cabinet from running their own candidate, one that actually is capable of running a country?"

Romero's fingers rested on the top button of her shirt, his thumb tracing its contours.

"Do you know how to run a campaign? To fix the votes? Stuffing the ballots or simply paying the electoral commission, a greased palm here and there? I had been doing it since long before you were born, little princess, before your father came along and made that all unnecessary."

He flicked the button open, and his fingers brushed the tops of her breasts, her nipples hardening.

"Now you find yourself surrounded by men with ambitions, set free by the **** of their master. Some may have a vested interest in your continued success... But others will see a chance to take the reins of power for themselves, and take you along with it. I can't speak for them, but I doubt they will want to be ruled by an 18 year old girl. Especially one who can barely string a coherent sentence together."

Isabella's eyes flickered, the sting of his words cutting through her daze. "I-I'm not a little girl. I can do this, I just need some time..."

Romero's hand flicked open yet another button, his fingertips tracing her cleavage, sending chill down her back.

"You don't have time, little princess. Your Cabinet is divided. Your military is leaderless. The people are starving. Your allies are nowhere to be found, and the enemies of your father are already sharpening their knives. Do you think any of them will wait patiently while you fumble through these early days, and hope that you will be able to catch your footing?"

He pulled his hand away from her, leaving a cold spot where his fingers had been. Isabella felt a pang of loss, a hollow emptiness that she craved to be filled. Romero shook his head, and Isabella was shaken to see a look of pity in his eyes.

"I do not envy you, little princess. I do not envy your burden."

He turned, walking away from her.

"I will give you some time to think, and then we can speak again, after the funeral. Go on, exhaust your options, try and find someone who can save you. And when you have given every piece of yourself, find yourself broken and bent, remember me. I'll be there for you, little princess. When everyone has left you, when there is no one left, come find me."

Romero strode to the door, his shoulders hunched, his gait stiff and uneven. As he opened the door, he turned to face her once more. His eyes locked on hers, piercing and black.

Romero smiled his wretched grin and nodded his head, closing the door behind him.

Isabella stood motionless, her shirt hanging open, her heart pounding in her chest. The room was silent, the only sound the faint buzzing of the city outside.

Her fingers trembled as she slowly undid the rest of the buttons. The cool air kissed her skin, goosebumps rippling across her body. Her nipples hardened, straining against the lace bra. Her hands trailed down her stomach, pulling the hem of her skirt up.

She let out a soft gasp as her fingers brushed against her damp panties, her thighs sticky with her arousal. Isabella closed her eyes and allowed the overwhelming sense of helplessness wash over her. She moaned softly, her mind racing, the room spinning around her.

Isabella sank to her knees, her hands clutching her thighs, her body trembling with need. The cool marble of the floor soothed her feverish skin, the smooth surface sliding easily between her thighs. She rocked her hips slowly, rubbing her throbbing clit, her fingers digging into her flesh.

"Please..." she whispered, her voice shaking. A tear slid down her cheek, and she finally allowed herself to cry.