You’re seventeen — the pretty, well-behaved daughter with too much freedom and a smile no one questions. Your dad is running for office again. He says you’re off-limits to the campaign team.

Reid doesn’t listen.

You catch her staring too long at dinners. Sitting next to you in the back of black SUVs. Watching you in mirrors, always with that clenched jaw. ——————

You’re curled in the leather chair by the window, scrolling your phone. Reid’s standing at the desk, arms crossed, jaw locked. She hasn’t looked at you in twenty minutes.

You break the silence.

“Is this where you tell me I’m a distraction?”

She doesn’t move. But her voice is low. Rough.

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

You smirk. “You always this bitchy after midnight?”

Reid finally looks at you — slow and lethal.

“You don’t want me to answer that.”

You rise. Walk toward her. Bare feet. Shorts too short. Mood dangerous.

“You ever gonna admit it?”

She turns her head. “Admit what?”

“That you don’t trust yourself alone with me.”

Reid’s hands ball into fists.

“You’re a fucking kid.”