Chapter 322

Damien

"...are you sure you have no interest in politics? You could have so much support. Honestly, if it was you, the election would be easy."

I freeze outside the conference room door.

That voice. Mr. Edwards—long-time party loyalist, my father’s old ally, a man whose opinion carries weight with every major donor in the city. What the fuck is he saying?

"Ha ha, no thank you." Another voice. Familiar. Too familiar. "I’ll leave that for my brother and father. Politics are not for me."

Daphne.

What is she doing here?

I don’t wait. I push open the door and walk in.

They’re both there;Mr. Edwards in his usual tailored suit, and Daphne, leaning against the conference table like she owns the place.

"Ah... Damien." Mr. Edwards falters for just a moment. "You’re here. Good, we were just—"

"What are you doing here?" I snap at Daphne, ignoring him completely.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. Just tilts her head with that infuriating calm.

"Quite the warm reception, brother."

"Damien." Mr. Edwards’ voice carries a warning. "I called her here."

"Why would you—"

He raises a hand, cutting me off. The gesture is casual, but the authority behind it is absolute. I’m the mayor, but Mr. Edwards has been in this game since before I was born.

"Your approval rating is at 37%," he says flatly.

"And that’s just from Alphas. The betas will vote for their candidate—you can count them out entirely. With your sister’s help, we can appeal to the Omega populace. That should land you on equal ground with the beta candidate."

I clench my fists.

"You’re not making matters any better." Mr. Edwards’ voice drops, heavy with disappointment.

"These scandals with your personal life. Your fiancée. It’s becoming a pattern." 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

He turns to Daphne. "My apologies. This isn’t how I wanted to introduce this conversation."

"Oh, don’t bother." Daphne waves a hand, smiling. "It’s nothing more than minor sibling rivalry."

I hate her.

She should have stayed the waste she was. Drinking, partying, embarrassing the family. Why is she suddenly everywhere? Why is she standing out?

"Now." Mr. Edwards straightens his jacket.

"I’m going to call a meeting to discuss how we incorporate this into our campaign strategy. Damien, Daphne—I’ll send the details."

He walks out, leaving us alone.

The door clicks shut.

"Why are you here?" The words come out sharper than I intended.

Daphne doesn’t answer immediately. She walks to the guest chair, takes a seat with the grace of someone who’s never had to fight for anything.

Bright blue suit. Pink heeled shoes. She looks like she stepped out of a magazine, and I hate that too.

She leans back, crossing one leg over the other.

"My, did you not hear a single thing Mr. Edwards said?"

"I thought you had no interest in politics." I step closer. "So stay away."

"Why?" She tilts her head, that infuriating smile still in place. "Afraid I’ll swoop in and take what’s yours?"

My fists clench tighter.

"Relax." Her voice drops, suddenly serious. "This isn’t something that’s yours that I’ll be taking."

"What does that mean?"

She doesn’t answer directly. Just watches me with those dark eyes, I hate that we look so much alike.

"I wouldn’t be here if you were competent."

The words hit like a slap. I open my mouth to respond, but she keeps going.

"Father personally asked me to come here, after all." She stands, smoothing her suit. "So if you have a problem with my presence, take it up with him."

Father?

How could he? How could he bring her into this—into my campaign, my career, my hard-won position? After everything I’ve done to build this, to prove myself, to step out of his shadow—

"Now be a good boy." Daphne’s voice drips with condescension as she motions to the chair beside her. "Take a seat, and we’ll discuss work."

I don’t sit beside her.

I walk to the opposite side of the conference table and lower myself into the chair across from her.

She doesn’t comment on my choice. Doesn’t need to. That victorious look in her eyes says everything.

I hate it.

I hate her.

***

Elliot

I hate him.

Vincent.

The memory of his hands on me, his weight, his breath—it haunts me, he’s always been rough but it was worse this time and I never want to experience it again.I’ll speak to Damien about him. Damien will listen. Damien will help.

I hope.

I stand in the crowd, watching the Hans at some charity conference. Press event. Photo opportunity. The usual performance.

The distance between us feels insurmountable.

Damien is up there, flashing that killer smile, posing with children, playing the benevolent mayor. It’s a good act. Convincing, even. But I know what’s underneath. I’ve seen it.

That’s not what has my attention, though.

No.

It’s his twin.

Daphne.

She’s so perfect.

Shorts and a simple t-shirt—casual, approachable, real. The rest of the Hans are drowning in designer labels, but she looks... different. I know it’s probably designer too; everything she owns probably costs more than I make in a year but somehow, on her, it doesn’t feel like a costume.

I watch as she lifts a child onto her shoulders. The little girl squeals with delight, and Daphne laughs playing with the other children like she’s one of them.

Like she’s just... human.

The contrast is stark.

Bernard Han stands stiff and distant. Olga smiles warmly but keeps her distance. Damien poses and performs.

And Daphne? Daphne plays.

If she treats strangers’ children like this... wouldn’t she treat her own children even better?

Our children.

The thought slips in before I can stop it.

A home. Laughter. Small hands reaching for us. Her dark eyes softening as she watches me with our baby.

It’s so vivid. So real.

She would be an incredible partner. Patient and playful and fiercely protective. And I would be there, beside her, watching it all.

I shake my head, forcing the fantasy away.