Chapter 221 Nia

• Nia stared at her laptop screen in the dim glow of her office, the cursor blinking accusingly over the half-formed speech. It was past midnight, the White House a labyrinth of hushed echoes and distant footsteps from night-shift staff. Vince's directive had come earlier that day, urgent and laced with frustration: counter Vardo's push for escalated arms shipments to the Middle East allies. 'Make it firm, Nia. No more half-measures. Family or not, his aggression risks everything we've built.' His words echoed in her mind, stirring the familiar ache of divided loyalties.
• She typed furiously, weaving rhetoric about diplomatic restraint, economic sanctions over military might, painting Vardo's stance as reckless brinkmanship that could ignite regional fires. But each sentence felt like a betrayal. Vardo's body on that jet—his tongue claiming her, fingers stretching her ass—still haunted her, It reminded her of the hold he had. Yet Vince's hand on hers, the what-ifs of gentleness, pulled at her heart. Torn between brothers, one offering power's edge, the other a president's quiet strength. Her pussy clenched involuntarily at the memory of Vardo's dominance, even as she envisioned Vince's lips brushing her temple in approval.
• The speech took shape: paragraphs on unity through negotiation, subtle jabs at unchecked private interests undermining national policy. She saved the draft, rubbing her eyes, the weight of deception pressing like the humid D.C. air seeping through the vents. The spy's breach from the safe house gnawed at her—Vardo had dismissed it as contained, but whispers of intercepted comms circulated in the intelligence briefs she'd glimpsed. If exposed, their affair, the deals, the everything would unravel.