Ava's POV
The Riverside Hotel's grand ballroom buzzes with the kind of energy that only comes with political ambition and expensive champagne. Red, white, and blue banners drape from the vaulted ceiling, while strategic lighting bathes the stage in patriotic hues.
I stand near the back with other municipal building staff, trying to blend into the wallpaper while my stomach churns with more than morning sickness.
The nausea has been getting worse, especially in crowds like this where dozens of perfumes and colognes assault my heightened senses.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice booms through the sound system, "please welcome the next governor of our great state, Tobias Murphy!"
Applause thunders through the ballroom as Tobias emerges from behind the curtain, looking every inch the statesman in his perfectly tailored navy suit. His smile is confident but warm, the kind that makes people believe in him without quite knowing why.
But it's not Tobias who makes my breath catch. It's the woman who glides out beside him like she owns the stage, the ballroom, the entire political landscape.
Veronica Tucker moves with predatory grace in her cream designer suit, the kind that probably costs more than my monthly rent. Her manicured hand settles on Tobias's arm with practiced ease, and photographers surge forward like hungry wolves.
"Thank you all for being here tonight," she says into the microphone, her voice carrying the polish of someone who's spent years in political circles. "As Tobias's former wife and the mother of his children, I couldn't be prouder to support his vision for our state's future."
Former wife. The words should comfort me, but the way she says them, with just enough emphasis to remind everyone they share a history, makes my chest tighten.
"I've witnessed Tobias's integrity firsthand during our years together," she continues, her hand sliding up his arm possessively. "His dedication to public service, his unwavering principles, his commitment to family. Our family."
She gestures toward the side of the stage where Tyler and Chloe stand looking uncomfortable in their formal wear. The word 'family' hangs in the air like a challenge, a reminder of bonds that existed long before I was even a possibility.
"Despite our personal differences, some things transcend individual concerns. Tobias Murphy will be a governor for all of us, and the Murphy family stands united behind his candidacy."
The applause that follows is deafening, but all I can focus on is the way Veronica's hand remains on Tobias's arm, the familiarity in their positioning, the ease with which she speaks for him.
When she reaches up to brush away an imaginary speck from his lapel, so intimate, so automatic, my nails dig crescents into my palms.
This woman shared his bed for years. Bore his children. Knows his morning routines, his political strategies, his body in ways I'm only beginning to discover. The realization sits in my stomach like lead.
Tobias takes the microphone, launching into his prepared speech about education reform and economic development.
I should be listening to the policies I helped research, but all I can see is Veronica beside him, playing the supportive political wife with devastating effectiveness.
When he mentions their "shared commitment to the next generation," she dabs at her eyes with a silk handkerchief, the perfect image of a woman moved by her ex-husband's noble vision. The cameras eat it up.
"Quite a show, isn't it?"
Jordan appears beside me with two champagne flutes, offering me one. "Though I have to admit, having Veronica on board changes the whole dynamic. She knows how to work a room."
"She's very... polished," I manage, declining the champagne with a vague gesture about being on antibiotics.
"She's a political consultant in DC. Helped run three gubernatorial campaigns before this. Win or lose, Tobias is lucky to have her expertise."
Lucky. The word tastes bitter in my mouth as I watch Veronica lean close to whisper something that makes Tobias nod, their coordination seamless.
I slip away as the formal program concludes, desperate for air that doesn't smell like ambition and expensive perfume. The hotel corridors are quieter, less overwhelming, but as I approach the elevators, my escape route is blocked.
"Ava, right?"
Veronica Tucker stands between me and freedom, holding two champagne flutes with the casual confidence of someone accustomed to controlling conversations.
"Tyler's mentioned you quite a bit lately." Her smile could cut glass. "How devoted you were during your relationship. It’s nice to meet you, dear.”
“We’ve met already, actually.”
“Oh right, I’ve completely forgotten. Three years together with Tyler, wasn't it?"
"Yes," I manage, accepting the flute she extends before realizing my mistake. “But we’re done.”
"To young love," she toasts anyways, raising her glass expectantly.
"Actually, I can't. Antibiotics." I set the champagne on a nearby table, and her perfectly shaped eyebrow arches.
"How unfortunate. Though perhaps it's for the best—you do look a bit peaked."
Her eyes scan me with surgical precision, lingering on my face, my chest where my breasts have definitely grown fuller, the way my hand unconsciously hovers near my stomach.
"The stress of a breakup, I imagine? It must be difficult watching Tyler move on so quickly."
"I'm fine," I lie, acutely aware of her cataloguing every detail of my appearance.
"Of course you are. Though I suppose you're used to being around the Murphys even after... unpleasantness."
She steps closer, and her expensive perfume, something with jasmine and sharp edges, makes my sensitive stomach lurch. "Tobias always speaks so highly of your work. So dedicated to your little youth programs."
The condescension drips like honey, each word carefully chosen to diminish.
"The municipal internship has been educational," I say carefully.
"I'm sure it has. Though a word of advice, dear—holding onto the past, lingering where you no longer belong, it's unbecoming."
Her voice remains pleasant, but steel glints underneath.
"This campaign will require the family's full focus. The team's full focus. Perhaps it's time you found a new... situation. Professionally speaking, of course."
The threat is silk-wrapped but unmistakable. Leave, or be made to leave.
"I appreciate the advice," I manage, fighting every instinct to either flee or fight.
"I thought you might." She touches my arm briefly, a gesture that looks supportive to anyone watching but feels like a predator marking territory. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I should return to my family."
My family. Not the family. My family.
I watch her glide back into the ballroom, immediately seeking out Tobias like a heat-seeking missile. Her hand slides possessively down his arm as she whispers something that makes him glance toward where I stand frozen in the corridor.
Even from this distance, I catch his subtle shake of his head—probably her asking if I caused any problems. The easy communication between them, built over years of marriage and shared children, makes jealousy claw at my throat like a living thing.
She dabs at fake tears during the photo session, her body pressed against his for the cameras. When donors approach, she speaks about their "enduring partnership despite personal differences," making their divorce sound like a minor inconvenience rather than a fundamental incompatibility.
I want to scream that I'm carrying his child. That he chose me in that bathroom last week, chose me in his office, chose me every time he's touched me like I matter. That her claim on him is past tense, history, irrelevant.
But I can't. I can only stand here watching this performance, knowing it will be repeated at every campaign event for the next six months.
I'll grow bigger with his child while she plays the devoted ex-wife considering reconciliation, all while those calculating eyes watch me for any sign of weakness.
The campaign has officially begun.
And with it, my personal torture.