The Nation's President Picked Me Up From Prison-Chapter 21: Elyn: Welcome, Dahlia

A lawsuit isn’t necessary, I keep telling Mr. Brandt that, but of course he doesn’t listen.

He’s someone who’s used to deciding everything and getting exactly what he wants.

"In just a matter of days, you’ll be known as the First Lady. You can’t let people think I don’t take your matters seriously," he says, sounding almost eager to play the role of my devoted husband.

Fine. Do as you please.

I don’t care enough about Kayla to make a fuss. I just don’t want more trouble. But if he insists, then I’ll let him.

When I get to my room, I peel off the damp gown and change into clean clothes. Then I flop onto the bed with my phone.

The internet is already in full frenzy.

Mr. President Seen at Music Awards With Elyn Hansley

Superstar Accused of Husband’s Murder Spotted With the President

Secret Relationship Between Elyn Hansley and President Brandt?

Of course I expected it would explode this fast.

Still, anxiety crawls through me. Now that we’ve been seen together, I know there’s no turning back.

Dahlia’s call interrupts my spiraling thoughts.

I hug my pillow as I answer.

"What on earth is—"

"Calm down," I cut in before she can unleash a storm loud enough to fry my eardrums. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"Calm down? Calm down? Did you see the news?! I thought you’d meet me backstage. I waited for you! But what happened? The President picked you up! The President!" She says it like the word itself is a meteor crashing into her life.

"I’m living in the president’s private residence," I tell her gently.

Silence.

More silence.

"Hello? Dahlia? Are you there?"

Did she collapse? Hit her head? Fall into a laundry basket?

"Hey, are you still alive? Are you breathing? I don’t hear you."

A full minute passes. My worry spikes. Dahlia is famously clumsy when shocked, and I’m ninety percent sure this news just broke her brain.

"What... did you say?" she finally whispers, barely audible.

"I am at the president’s private residence."

"Okay. Okay, I get it. But why are you there? Tell me everything. I need you to tell me everything, Elyn."

She’s serious, truly serious, and that alone is unsettling, because this tone is rare for her.

"Of course. I planned to tell you anyway. But we need to talk in person. Come here tomorrow morning and we’ll talk."

"Come... there?"

"Yes. To the president’s house. The Brandt residence."

"Oh God."

* * *

Jean, along with the security team introduced to me yesterday, is now stationed in the mansion.

She handles most of the communication with, while the men keep their distance. She told me that wherever I go, they have to follow, per the president’s rules.

Which is why I’m currently standing at the residence’s main gates, waiting for Dahlia.

I asked the president last night if I could bring her over, and he agreed. He hasn’t shown himself since he picked me up. He only left a message saying he’d be back for the wedding later this afternoon.

Stannis offered to have Dahlia escorted from the gates to the mansion, but I insisted on greeting her myself. So here I am, with Jean and her team, looking like the world’s most awkward VIP.

It doesn’t take long before a taxi pulls up and Dahlia steps out.

Her jaw practically hits the pavement when she sees me.

Well—technically, it’s the people around me she’s gawking at.

She joins me in the car, and only once the doors close does she finally speak.

"You have a freaking entourage?" she asks, shaking her head as she peers out the window at the long driveway stretching ahead.

"I thought the house was just a few yards away, but you need cars to get there? This place must be enormous."

"It is very vast," I reply, smiling.

Dahlia isn’t my first assistant, but she’s been with me for three years now. Only a couple of years older, yet she fusses over me like a mother. She has big brown eyes, soft waves of brown hair, and dresses like the most competent mayor’s secretary—pencil skirt, crisp white blouse, always prepared for a crisis.

Three years isn’t that long, but she’s become like family.

When the cars stop in front of the mansion, Dahlia steps out and immediately scans the area.

"What is that? Is there a wedding happening?" she asks, staring at the decorated garden where servants are setting things up.

I pull her inside before she can explode.

"Yes, there’s a wedding happening," I tell her once we’re safely in my room.

Dahlia slowly shakes her head.

"Wait. You can’t be telling me that..." She trails off, but the words hang between us anyway.

I offer a tight smile.

She throws up a hand and steps back. "Whoa. Whoa. Give me a second."

Then she starts pacing, studying me like she’s trying to decipher whether an alien replaced my soul overnight.

"First, I find out you’re picked up by the president at the awards night. Then you tell me you’re staying in his private residence. And now... please tell me I’m wrong, you’re not the one getting married, right? You’re not marrying the president?"

"I’m sorry for not telling you my plans—"

"So you are marrying him?!"

"Yes."

She collapses onto the floor dramatically, palm slapped over her mouth.

"This is insanity."

She points at me. "Yes, you are insane, Elyn."

For agreeing to the president’s proposal? Absolutely.

"Did the weeks in that cell damage your brain? It must be the food. The water? Yes, maybe they were contaminated with bacteria that melted your common sense! Or did the depression chew through your neurons? You’re telling me you’re marrying the president not even a month after your husband’s death?!"

The shouts are endless.

I sit on the bed and exhale deeply.

"Let me explain everything."

She stays on the floor but straightens, fully attentive.

"But promise me you won’t tell a soul," I warn. "I won’t kill you if you break it, obviously, I’m not capable of that. But I can’t promise the president will be as merciful."