Veronica's POV
The Ritz-Carlton's presidential suite overlooks the city like a throne room, floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views I've paid handsomely to enjoy while orchestrating Tobias's downfall.
My laptop sits open on the marble dining table, displaying photographs that cost me ten thousand dollars and three days of carefully planned absence.
Worth every penny.
I'd deliberately scheduled my "urgent business trip to DC" to coincide with Chloe's little country house weekend, knowing Tobias would be less guarded without my watchful presence.
Men like my ex-husband always assume their intelligence makes them untouchable, forgetting that beautiful women built empires long before they learned to underestimate us.
The private investigator I hired, a former Secret Service agent with flexible morals and expensive equipment, had done excellent work. The images are crystal clear, shot with telephoto lenses from positions Tobias never would have thought to check.
The first series shows them on their woodland walk Saturday afternoon. Tobias and that little intern standing beside the stream, his body language protective, possessive in ways I remember from our early days together.
His hand cups her face with unmistakable tenderness, thumb brushing her cheek while she gazes up at him with the kind of adoration I haven't seen in his eyes for twenty years.
In the next shot, he's pressing her against an oak tree, their mouths fused together in a kiss that's anything but appropriate. Her hands fist in his shirt, back arched as he devours her mouth like a starving man.
The desperation in their body language screams of suppressed desire finally unleashed.
But it's the kitchen window series that provides the most damaging evidence. Saturday morning, while darling Chloe drove to town for groceries, Daddy was busy fucking her best friend against the breakfast counter.
The images capture everything—Ava's dress hiked up around her waist, Tobias's hands gripping her ass, the unmistakable urgency of two people who couldn't wait another second to have each other.
Reckless. Sloppy. Exactly what I needed.
The most damning photograph was taken Sunday morning as they stood on the front porch, thinking themselves unobserved. Tobias's hand rests flat against Ava's stomach, fingers splayed possessively over what I now know contains his child.
The gesture is protective, reverent, the pose of a man claiming what belongs to him.
Did he really think I wouldn't notice his distraction during campaign events? The way his eyes tracked that little intern at every gathering, how his attention focused with laser precision whenever she entered a room?
Twenty-four years of marriage and divorce taught me to read Tobias Murphy like an open book, even when he thinks he's being subtle.
He's always underestimated my intelligence, mistaking my beautiful face for an empty head. A fatal error for someone who built a political consulting empire by reading people's secrets before they knew they had them.
I study the clearest images again, noting details that confirm my suspicions. The way Ava leans into him with complete trust. How naturally his arm circles her waist.
The intimate familiarity in their positioning that speaks of a relationship far beyond professional mentorship.
Ava Brennan, twenty-one, municipal intern, best friend to Chloe, ex-girlfriend to Tyler. The dossier I compiled tells me everything about her modest background, scholarship achievements, and spotless reputation.
But it was the pregnancy test receipt from Dr. Martinez's clinic, obtained through connections that cost me another five thousand, that confirmed what these photographs only suggested.
The little fool is carrying Tobias's baby.
She probably thinks this is some grand love story, that he'll abandon his political ambitions to play house with his knocked-up intern. I remember being that naive once, believing love conquered practical considerations.
Before I learned that men like Tobias choose power when it truly matters.
This scandal could destroy him completely—"Gubernatorial Candidate Impregnates Intern" would dominate headlines for months.
But deployed correctly, it could also ensure he needs me more than ever. Damage control. Unified front. The experienced political consultant who saves his career in exchange for whatever I want.
My phone buzzes with a text from Tyler: "Can we talk? Having a rough week."
Perfect timing.
"Of course, darling. Coffee tomorrow? I'm back in town."
Twenty-four hours later, I'm seated in an upscale café downtown, watching my son stumble through the door looking like he's been drinking since breakfast. His hair is uncombed, his eyes bloodshot, and he smells faintly of whiskey and self-pity.
"You look terrible," I observe as he slumps into the chair across from me.
"Thanks, Mom. Really feeling the maternal love." His voice carries that sullen edge I remember from his teenage years.
"I'm simply concerned. Chloe mentioned you've been having difficulties since your breakup with Ava." I signal the waitress for coffee, keeping my tone sympathetic. "That must be devastating after three years together."
"She was a frigid bitch anyway," he mutters, but I hear the hurt underneath the bravado. "Led me on for years, then acted like I was some kind of predator for wanting a normal relationship."
"Of course she did, sweetheart. Some women weaponize their sexuality to control men, make you feel guilty for having natural desires."
I lean forward, voice dropping to conspiratorial levels. "Though I have to say, I always noticed how she seemed to prefer your father's attention during family gatherings."
Tyler's head snaps up, bloodshot eyes suddenly sharp. "What do you mean?"
"Oh, I'm probably reading too much into things. But there was always something... intense about the way she looked at Tobias. Even when she was supposedly devoted to you."
I pause, letting the seed take root. "You must have noticed how she'd light up whenever he entered a room."
I watch the realization dawn slowly, pieces clicking together behind his angry eyes.
The family dinners where Ava hung on Tobias's every word. Her internship application specifically requesting his department. How she'd find excuses to linger after family gatherings.
"You think she was using me," he says quietly, rage shifting from hot to cold. "To get close to him."
"I think she's a calculating little girl who knew exactly what she wanted." I reach across the table, covering his clenched fist with my manicured hand. "The question is: what are you going to do about it?"
I slide one of the tamer photographs across the table—Tobias and Ava standing close during their woodland walk, intimate but not explicitly sexual. Tyler stares at the image, his hands slowly curling into fists.
"Where did you get this?"
"Does it matter? What matters is that she played you for a fool while pursuing your father behind your back."
I keep my voice gentle, sympathetic, the loving mother sharing her son's pain. "There's more, Tyler. Much more from this weekend at the country house."
His breathing becomes ragged as the full scope of the betrayal sinks in. "How long?"
"I suspect months. Maybe longer." I lean back, letting him process. "The real question is: are you going to let them get away with it?"
By the time our conversation ends, we have an understanding. I want leverage over Tobias—the ability to control his campaign, his future, his choices. Tyler wants Ava punished for her betrayal, wants to watch her perfect little world crumble around her.
Together, we can accomplish both objectives without getting our hands visibly dirty.
Tyler leaves with renewed purpose, his wounded ego transformed into calculating malice. I return to my suite to study the photographs again, planning exactly how to deploy this nuclear weapon.
The little girl thought she could steal my husband and destroy my family without consequences.
She's about to learn how wrong she was.