Chapter 8: The Game Begins
The next day, I was promoted from assistant to First Lady, with the title Rachel.
The formalities were swift, the rumors in the West Wing swirling like leaves in an autumn wind. Rachel was furious.
She barged into my bedroom, her face stormy.
Her cheeks flushed, eyes narrowed. "I underestimated you."
She must have thought that, without magic and with a staffer’s background, the President would never like me.
I turned my head calmly, about to speak, when a butler announced the President’s arrival.
He entered with a soft knock, followed by an old housekeeper who’d served the former First Lady for years.
Yes, when Rachel was in power, she looked down on everyone but the President, so everyone tried to make things difficult for her.
The housekeeper’s voice was cool, almost gleeful. "The former First Lady said she would let Rachel rest for a month, but since you stayed up late serving in bed, you must be healthy. Kneel in your hallway for two hours, soak up some sunlight, and strengthen your body."
In my previous life, as a maid, I took the punishment for her, so my old injuries never healed and only worsened. My knees swelled like dinner rolls, and I couldn’t walk for a week.
Rachel only pouted, saying I was too delicate.
Now, I leaned on the President, eyes red with tears.
I let my voice tremble, almost childlike. "Mr. President, it hurt too much yesterday. May I kneel tomorrow instead?"
The President’s face remained gentle as he supported me.
He wrapped an arm around my waist, voice firm. "Rachel is frail. Have her staffer take her place."
I dabbed my eyes with a tissue, glancing at Rachel by the door.
The President followed my gaze and casually pointed at her.
His voice was flat. "You."
Rachel’s always-composed face froze. From her forced calm and slight trembling, I could tell she was livid.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t dare raise her head, but walked step by step to the center of the hallway.
She hunched her back, lowered her head, and knelt—utterly unwilling.
The sun streamed through the windows, burning her neck as she knelt. For two hours at noon, the President dined with me, and we laughed and joked together.
I didn’t close the door, letting all the favor that once belonged to her drift out on the summer breeze, scorching her face.
Every word, every burst of laughter, was meant for her ears.