Chapter 212 Nia

• The kiss lingered like a bruise on Nia's lips, swelling with every replay in her mind. Days blurred after the residence meeting—the memo's fallout dominating headlines, Vince's approval ratings dipping as investigations dragged. Nia buried herself in drafts, scripting Vince's rebuttal speech with fierce precision, but focus fractured. At night, alone in her apartment, she'd touch herself, fingers circling her clit, imagining Vardo's rough mouth instead of Vince's gentle one. The shame burned, but so did the ache between her thighs, her pussy clenching around nothing as she came whispering his name.
• Vardo didn't let up. Texts arrived on a burner number he'd slipped into her phone during the chaos: We need to talk. Policy implications. Neutral ground. She deleted the first, ignored the second, but the third hit during a late Oval session, Vince's voice droning policy while her screen lit up: The Jefferson Suite, Willard Hotel. 9 PM. Or I come to you. The threat coiled in her gut—his possessiveness no bluff, the kiss proof of his intent. She told herself it was to clear the air, protect Vince from further family rifts. Lies, all of it; the pull was magnetic, drawing her despite the war inside.
• The Willard loomed historic and discreet, its facade hiding scandals for decades. Nia arrived early, coat over a simple black dress, heels echoing in the lobby as she scanned for tails. No one followed; she took the elevator to the top floor, heart slamming against her ribs. The suite door was ajar, soft light spilling out. She knocked once, pushed in, the click of the lock behind her sealing her fate.