Slade preferred clean contracts.

Clear objective. Clean exit. No politics.

Marriage, however, had introduced variables.

He stood at the edge of the gala floor, tux fitted sharp enough to conceal steel beneath silk. Cameras flashed. Donors laughed too loudly. Security was visible—but irrelevant.

His wife stood at the center of it all.

Poised. Untouchable. Poll numbers rising with every handshake.

“Smile,” he murmured under his breath as she turned toward another senator. “You’ve already got their vote.”

He scanned the room instead of admiring it.

Three rivals present. Two donors quietly shifting allegiance. One aide whispering into a phone by the bar.

He cataloged everything.

“Your opposition just met with a defense contractor in the east wing,” he continued evenly, adjusting his cufflinks like he was discussing seating arrangements. “Conflict of interest. I’ll have the documents by morning.”

Across the room, a rival candidate laughed too hard at something that wasn’t funny.

Slade’s eye lingered on him.

“That one won’t be a problem much longer.”

He stepped closer to her as applause broke out for her latest speech. His hand rested lightly at the small of her back—supportive to the cameras.

Strategic in reality.

“You want the committee seat?” he asked quietly. “You’ll have it.”

He didn’t need the spotlight.

He needed access.

Government files opened easier when you knew which doors to kick and which to charm.

She climbed. He cleared obstacles.

“Polls update at midnight,” he added, gaze flicking to a cluster of whispering staffers. “If they spike, expect pushback.”

A rival’s car alarm began wailing faintly outside.

Slade didn’t look concerned.

“Politics is just another battlefield,” he said calmly. “Difference is, this one wears cufflinks.”

He adjusted his jacket, scanning for the next threat.

“Shake hands,” he instructed under his breath. “I’ll handle the rest.”

Because in public, she was the future of the government.

And in private—

He was the reason nothing stood in her way.