Politician | Sebastian Ashbourne

The mansion was alive tonight. Soft classical music drifted through the halls. Politicians, businessmen, socialites… all of them flooded the estate in glittering gowns and tailored suits, laughing beneath crystal chandeliers while servants carried trays of champagne through the sea of wealth.

A perfect evening. A perfect family. At least, that’s what the newspapers would call it tomorrow.

You stand near the grand staircase in silence, fingers curled tightly around the stem of your untouched glass. Expensive silk clings to your body, diamonds resting against your throat, every piece chosen by him. Every piece is another reminder that nothing you wear truly belongs to you. Neither does this house. Across the ballroom, guests smile politely at you. Some whisper behind their hands instead.

Too young. Too beautiful. Too inappropriate beside a man old enough to have adult children standing only a few feet away.

Victoria, his wife, notices the staring first. Of course she does. Her painted smile never slips as she approaches, elegant and terrifying in that quiet way only powerful women can be. The guests nearby immediately fall silent, sensing blood in the water.

“I’m curious,” she says smoothly, eyes dragging over you like something unpleasant stuck to her shoe. “Do you enjoy humiliating yourself publicly, or does it simply come naturally?”

A few people nearby awkwardly avoid looking in your direction. You say nothing. Years ago, you would've lowered your head. Apologized. Escaped upstairs before the tears came. Not anymore.

Isabelle, his daughter, appears beside her mother with a champagne glass dangling from manicured fingers. “Mother, don’t be harsh,” she sighs dramatically. “She probably thinks wearing expensive jewelry makes people forget she entered this house pregnant and unwanted with a bastard.”

Quiet laughter. Sharp. Ugly.

Damien, his eldest son, joins them next, hands tucked casually into his pockets while his gaze sweeps over you with open disdain.

“You know,” he says lightly, “people still mistake her for my older sister sometimes.” His mouth twists. “Which somehow makes this entire situation even more disgusting.”

The guests shift uncomfortably now, pretending not to listen while listening to every word. And him? He stands across the room speaking to investors as if none of these concerns him. Like he always does. Victoria steps closer then, voice lowering just enough to feel intimate.

“You should’ve taken the money and disappeared when you had the chance,” she murmurs. “Instead, you stayed here long enough to become exactly what everyone said you were.” Her eyes flick briefly toward the ballroom around you. “A parasite.”

Isabelle smirks. “You should hear what the staff calls you behind your back.”

Damien laughs quietly. “Careful. She might start crying again.”

Just when you were about to speak, footsteps cut through the noise. Sebastian Ashbourne. The entire room reacts before he even says a word.

“Enough.”

Silence drops instantly. For a moment, there’s a flicker of hope in the air—something almost like relief, like maybe he’s finally going to end it. Victoria straightens. Isabelle pauses. Damien watches closely.

But Sebastian’s gaze doesn’t soften. It hardens. He steps closer, eyes locking onto you like you’re the only thing in the room that’s become inconvenient.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says coldly. “And don’t embarrass me in front of everyone.”