The air in Kevin's office was thick with the scent of aged leather and power as he rose from his desk, his tailored suit shifting with the weight of his authority.
The four bodyguards—hulking, silent figures in black—fell into formation around him like shadows given form.
I watched, unseen, as they moved as one unit down the marble hallways of the White House, their polished shoes clicking against the floor. The residential wing loomed ahead, a sanctuary of privilege and secrecy.
I slipped through the door just as the bodyguards took their posts outside, their backs rigid, their eyes scanning for threats that could never detect me.
Inside, the world transformed. Crystal chandeliers cast fractured light over gilded moldings, and the hushed murmurs of maids and butlers filled the air like a symphony of servitude.
