The words hung in the air like prophecy—like warning—like the first crack of thunder before a storm:
"We need a new national figure... fast."
The sentence shook the walls of the Prime Minister's crisis suite. Advisors crowded in a tight semicircle, their eyes darting between Alex and the looping replay of Vanessa's live meltdown. Every ugly second flashed again: the leaked texts, the voice notes, the accusations, the tremble in her voice when she announced—
"I done with him."
Alex stood very still, jaw locked, the humiliation twisting in his gut. He had survived political storms before, but nothing this personal. Nothing this raw. Nothing that tore open his private life for the entire nation to devour like entertainment.
Shelly Munns, his press secretary, pinched the bridge of her nose. "If we don't shift the national conversation immediately, the opposition will crucify us."
Mr. Higgs—strategic, stiff-suited, always calculating—leaned forward. "We need something unifying. Something wholesome. Something cultural. Something that re-centers national pride."
Alex's voice was flat. "And what does that look like, exactly?"
Higgs smiled the way men smile when they've already played the next three moves on the board.
"A Queenship Program."
Shelly blinked. "A... what now?"
"A cultural initiative," Higgs said smoothly. "Not a beauty pageant. A national representation program. A search across all the islands for a woman who embodies Bahamian culture, dignity, leadership, and heritage. Someone the people can rally around."
"So... a Queen?" Shelly clarified.
"A modern one," Higgs said. "Someone who carries the story of the islands. Someone who symbolizes strength. Someone who shifts attention away from..." His eyes cut toward the paused frame of Vanessa's theatrics. "This."
Alex exhaled through his teeth. "And you think that will work?"
"We believe," Higgs said confidently, "this might save your career."
Alex didn't answer. He wasn't thinking about careers right now. He was thinking about betrayal, and shame, and the entire country watching him crumble in real time. But he nodded once.
"Fine. Launch it tomorrow."
Thousands of miles away, on the quiet cradle of Andros—where pine trees whispered, the sea sang, and time moved slow—Essie Munroe had no idea her name was about to be dragged into national politics.
She sat on her porch peeling cassava beside her cousin Farrah while Aunt Beverly stepped outside with her Bible tucked under her arm. The late-crowing rooster let out its confused announcement, as usual.
Aunt Beverly placed her hand on the doorframe, staring out toward the water as though listening to something only she could hear.
"Something shifting," she murmured.
Farrah sighed. "Auntie, please don't start. You say that every time Pastor preach too long."
"This ain't no sermon shift," Aunt Beverly said. "This a Bahamas shift. Nassau shaking tonight."
Essie paused mid-scrape. "Good or bad?"
"Storm first," Aunt Beverly said. "Blessing after."
Farrah groaned. "That sound like plenty confusion."
"Confusion brings clarity," Aunt Beverly replied. "If you brave enough to see."
Before Essie could respond, she heard them—twin footsteps thundering like a village announcement.
Betty and Bessie.
Mastic Point's unofficial Ministry of Information.
Short, round, loud, and proud, they marched up the yard in matching floral dresses, red hats on, carrying tote bags and expressions of national urgency.
"ESSIE!" Betty shouted.
"Open ya ears!" Bessie echoed.
"The whole Bahamas upside down!" Betty declared.
"And yinna need to listen!" Bessie added for harmony.
Farrah rolled her eyes. "Lord, here we go."
Betty slapped a newspaper onto the porch table. The headline screamed loud and bold:
PRIME MINISTER CHRISTIE IN NATIONAL SCANDAL — LIVE BREAKUP SHOCKS COUNTRY
Essie blinked. "A live breakup?"
"LIVE, child!" Bessie cried. "Live like Jesus tomb empty live!"
"They say the girlfriend—Vanessa Rolle—gone clean off," Betty added. "Expose him on Instagram. Call him out. Mash up he career in half!"
Essie winced. "That sounds painful."
"Painful?" Bessie snorted. "It catastrophic! It drama! It pure soap opera with no commercial break!"
Essie tried not to listen, but standing in the path of Betty and Bessie's storytelling was like standing in a category five storm—no escape.
Farrah snatched the paper. "Well he look good in this picture though—"
Aunt Beverly cut her a look. "Focus, child."
"And there's MORE," Betty said, leaning in like a conspirator.
"The government launching—"
"—a QUEENSHIP PROGRAM!" Bessie finished, bouncing like she was announcing Junkanoo results.
Essie frowned. "A what?"
"A Queenship Program!" Betty repeated, as though the meaning was obvious.
"To find a national woman," Bessie explained. "A woman who represent culture, strength, dignity, pride!"
"And they want ALL the islands!" Betty added. "They say family islands must participate!"
Aunt Beverly's head tilted, her eyes narrowing. "Hmm."
Essie put down the cassava. "But... why?"
The twins lit up like two Christmas trees plugging into the same socket.
"My one and two tells me to distract from the PM scandal!" Betty announced.
"He need a national sweetheart now!" Bessie added dramatically.
Aunt Beverly sucked her teeth. "So he want to use the young women of this country to clean he mess? Sweet Jesus."
"That ain't the point!" Betty huffed. "The point is—"
"ESSIE need to join!" Bessie shouted.
Essie nearly dropped the knife. "ME?! Absolutely not!"
"YES!" they sang in unison.
Farrah burst out laughing. "Essie? In national spotlight? Y'all dreaming."
"Don't disrespect her!" Betty snapped. "This girl right here—" she pointed like she was presenting cattle at auction— "is humble, beautiful, educated, cultured, and she got manners!"
"Queen material," Bessie declared.
"No," Essie said firmly. "My life is here. On Andros."
"Doing what?" Betty demanded. "Peeling cassava and hiding ya face from God calling you?"
Essie flushed. "I'm not hiding."
"You SHOULD care," Bessie scolded. "God ain't plant mango trees for them to bear once every five years. Purpose supposed to show."
Aunt Beverly watched her closely. "Ess," she said quietly, "you ever wonder if your whole life been preparation?"
Essie blinked. "Preparation for what?"
Aunt Beverly didn't answer.
Instead, she walked inside, came back with a crisp envelope, and placed it on the table.
Bahamas Ministry of Culture — Queenship Initiative Packet
Essie gasped. "Where that come from?!"
Betty and Bessie straightened proudly.
"We sign you up!"
Essie nearly fainted. "Y'ALL WHAT?!"
"You ain't see ya potential," Betty said. "So we see it for you."
"You think small," Bessie said. "We think national."
Essie pressed her hands to her face. "I am NOT applying. I don't care about what Nassau doing."
"That Nassau business coming here," Aunt Beverly murmured.
Essie looked up.
Aunt Beverly's eyes were soft but sharp. "You think your life small because you stay on this island. But sometimes big things find small places."
Essie swallowed hard. "I don't want to be in nobody spotlight."
"Queenship isn't spotlight," Aunt Beverly said. "It's calling."
Farrah leaned in. "Girl, relax. You ain't getting picked anyway."
Essie shot her a glare. "Wow. Thank you."
Betty pulled out a form. "Here — applications dropping island-wide today. You can fill it now."
Name. Age. Island. Cultural background. Skills. Community work.
Essie stared, overwhelmed.
"I don't belong in Nassau."
Bessie rolled her eyes. "You belong everywhere God send you."
Aunt Beverly nodded. "Amen."
Just then, a shadow stepped onto the porch.
Marcus Munroe.
Tall, steady, respected. Essie's older cousin and unofficial bodyguard of the entire family.
He paused, looking from the twins to the form... to Essie's panicked expression.
"What going on here?" he asked calmly.
Betty thrust the packet at him. "Essie joining the Queenship Program!"
Essie rushed behind him. "I am NOT."
"Yes she is," Bessie said. "We decided."
Marcus raised a brow. "Since when y'all got authority over my cousin life?"
"Since she don't see her worth," Betty countered.
Marcus's voice sharpened. "Essie worth the world. She don't need Nassau to validate her."
Essie's chest warmed.
But the twins weren't done.
"If she don't join," Betty said, "some OTHER girl gon' represent Andros."
"And Essie better than half of them," Bessie added.
Aunt Beverly closed her Bible. "Marcus."
He looked at her.
"Don't block what you don't understand."
Marcus exhaled, torn.
Essie clutched her skirt. "I'm not made for that life."
Marcus looked at her—really looked. Her fear, her gentleness, her humility.
"You don't have to do anything," he said quietly. "Nobody forcing you."
But as he looked down at the form, something shifted in him. He thought of the scandal, the program, the attention... the vulnerability other girls might face.
If someone from Andros had to go...
Shouldn't it be someone grounded?
He lifted the pen.
Essie gasped. "Marcus, NO—"
And without a word—
He signed the form.