Chapter One:
He should've skipped the damn speech.
Now his hands are sweaty, and he's so nervous.
Micah Lennox adjusted his tie for the sixth time, regretting every life decision that had led him to this dull-ass charity gala.
Suits, fake plastic smiles, champagne that tasted like only God knows. He so much hated it here.
Micah eyes scanned around the room.
And then there was Nathan York.
The perfect man.
Conservative prince.
Tall, clean-cut, thirty-four and still somehow married even though Micah knows a secret that could ruin that fragile marriage he has.
Always had that half-smile like he knew something you didn't.
Always talked like he was already President.
Micah hated how much he watched him.
"Thank you all for coming," Nathan said, voice strong over the mic. "This isn't about parties. It's about people and our great country America."
Polite applause.
"About the people indeed, these people lies too much. Even the devil would be afraid",Micah snorted.
Micah leaned on the back wall, sipping soda and wishing it were tequila.
ADHD bouncing off his skull and acting up again.
He caught Nathan's eye across the crowd for a second.
That was all.
And then—
BANG.
The mic exploded.
People screamed and ran for their lives.
BANG BANG.
Two more shots.
Nathan staggered, hands on his chest.
Micah's heart dropped and he couldn't breathe for a second.
One second, Nathan was standing there like he owned the night, everything going fine after winning the election results.
Next second, blood. Spreading across his chestsoaking the white shirt.
People hit the floor. Screaming, ducking, running. Chaos swallowed everything.
"GET DOWN EVERYONE!" someone yelled.
Micah froze for a second too long, brain stuttering. Then he dove behind the speaker stand, heart slamming in his chest.
What the fuck just happened?. What is going on?
"I hate politics and shouldn't be here but do I have to suffer for that by losing my life", Micah said under his breath.
Security was yelling into radios. Someone pulled Nathan down behind the podium. Blood trailed. The floor stained red with his blood.
Micah crawled low, ducked beside a flipped table. A woman sobbed nearby, mascara bleeding down her face. Sirens in the distance. Too far.
He peeked out—
Nathan. Lying still. Eyes half-lidded. Some aide pressing hard on his chest.
"STAY WITH US, SENATOR!"
Micah's throat closed. That wasn't just some political opponent. That was—
No. Not now.
He kept crawling. Elbowed someone accidentally. "Shit, sorry."
The shooter? Gone.
Or hidden.
Micah didn't know.
His ears rang. Hands shook. Heart had no rhythm left.
The guy who just last week told him, "Politics doesn't need feelings, Lennox," was now drowning in them. Blood. Fear. Pain.
Micah's mind snapped back to last year.
To debates.
To secret glances.
To hotel hallways and one reckless, stupid, breathless kiss, then sex after sex and their secret affair of almost a year now.
Then a voice yelled: "WE NEED A MEDIC NOW!. SOMEONE CALL THE AMBULANCE."
Micah pushed up onto his knees. Didn't even think.
He ran toward the stage. A security guy tried to block him—Micah ducked under.
Nathan's eyes flickered. Barely.
Micah dropped to the floor beside him. "York—fuck, Nate, don't—don't you dare leave me, okay. Open your eyes, don't sleep for God's sake."
Nathan blinked once.
Whispered something.
Micah leaned close.
"…should've… voted blue," Nathan rasped, blood on his teeth.
Micah let out a shaky laugh. "You're such a piece of shit. I would lose myself if you ever leave me"
Then Nathan coughed.
And stopped moving.
Just—stopped.
The medic team crashed in. Pushed Micah back. "We've got him, sir."
Micah backed up, hands bloody, heart in shattered.
Sirens howled now, closer.
Someone grabbed Micah. "Lennox! Are you okay?"
He didn't answer. Just stared.
Nathan was placed on a stretcher, limp, pale, soaked.
Micah wiped his mouth.
He can't cry here.
Not in front of cameras. Not in front of them.
But God knows, he wanted to.
He was struggling to hold those tears.
The ambulance doors slammed shut.
And Micah Lennox stood alone in a puddle of blood and press lights, wondering—
Did the man who he had fallen in love with just die in front of him?