Chapter 12: Carter Nolan

Of all those entering the White House selection, only my sister stayed.

I didn’t know if Rachel had done it deliberately. Was he protecting her, or shutting me out for good?

Dad sighed helplessly. “As long as your sister is well, that’s all that matters. With only two partners in the White House, there’s less drama.”

“Your sister is clever, too. There’s no need to worry.”

After a pause, he continued, “The man you’re engaged to will also attend the upcoming gala. You can check him out in secret. If he’s not suitable, we’ll call off the engagement.”

I broke off a twig and asked quietly, “What’s his name?”

“Carter Nolan.”

The wedding was set for the following month.

I attended another gala. Maybe because I now knew Rachel was also given a second chance, when I saw him again, smiling from his high seat, I couldn’t help but feel he was a stranger. The distance between us felt insurmountable—a world away, even in the same room.

I left the White House again. The night air bit at my cheeks as I hurried down the steps, fighting the urge to cry.

Dad said my fiancé was a young captain—burly, with a broad forehead and round eyes—not especially handsome. I pictured a giant football player, all muscle and little charm.

I paced back and forth anxiously. My heels tapped nervously against the marble entryway, echoing off the high ceilings.

A low, rough voice called from behind, “Anna Shaw.”

I looked up.

Wasn’t this the man whose napkin I had thrown into the pool earlier? He stood tall in his dress blues, a lopsided smile warming his features.

“You…”

He suddenly smiled, warmth lighting up his face.

“I’m your fiancé, Carter Nolan.”

I softly repeated his name and turned to leave. My heart pounded, torn between surprise and confusion.

Dad was a professor and always biased against military men, but Carter Nolan was actually rather good-looking. There was something steady and honest about him, something that made me pause.

Back at the gala, I didn’t see my sister and began to worry. I searched the crowd, anxiety gnawing at my gut.

The morning passed in a daze. I barely noticed the conversations swirling around me, the clinking of glasses, the distant laughter.

I wasn’t in the mood for their conversation.

Suddenly, a young staffer came to me and said quietly, “Jessica Lynn wishes to see you.”

I followed her out of the gala and into another wing of the White House. The halls were hushed, the portraits on the walls watching us pass.

This path was all too familiar—it was my former East Wing office from my previous life. The old sense of belonging stirred, then faded as I saw who waited for me.

When I saw that the woman seated was Jessica Lynn, I quietly clenched my hand.

The golden peony brooch on her lapel was the token of affection Rachel had given me in my previous life. The matching piece was still beneath his pillow in the Lincoln Bedroom. I swallowed, jealousy burning in my throat.

I pressed my lips together.

Jessica Lynn gestured for me to approach. She lounged in the chair, the picture of power and poise.

A hint of mockery flashed in her eyes.

“Is your nickname Annie?”

I froze. In the past, only Rachel called me that. Not even Dad did.

I denied it immediately. “That’s not my nickname.” My voice was flat, defensive.

“Really? But yesterday, the President stayed in my suite and called out Annie’s name.” Her words landed like a slap, and I flinched involuntarily.

My pupils contracted, and I slowly knelt. I felt my knees hit the carpet, an old instinct of submission from years of tradition and fear.

“Maybe he misheard.”

She was now the powerful First Lady. If she secretly targeted my sister…

I dared not think further.

So I bowed my head and added, “Next month, I’ll be married.” I tried to sound small, harmless.

She fiddled with the pearl bracelet on her wrist. Her nails clicked softly against the pearls, a warning in every gesture.

Then it slipped from her palm.

A crisp crack echoed through the silent hall.

“This was a presidential gift. Why did Anna Shaw break it?”

“Go kneel at the White House entrance for two hours.”

I gritted my teeth and went to kneel at the front steps. The marble was so hot it burned through my dress. Sweat trickled down my back, but I kept my chin up, watching the flag snap in the wind.

I counted every second, every heartbeat. If this was the price of freedom, I’d pay it—and next time, I’d make my own fate.