You met his gaze briefly, and your heart clenched. It was still him, the man you’d once loved—and now, the man you had every reason to despise. You had always been rivals, your cold calculated approach clashing against his cheeky, carefree style. While you held your cards close, he was the kind who played to the crowd, armed with a grin and a pocketful of jokes, always trying to break your composure.

The debate began, and you start exchanged sharp pointed arguments.

You answered smoothly, “This country deserves leadership built on stability. We can’t afford empty promises and risky schemes.”

He leaned in, chuckling softly. “Careful as ever, I see. But maybe a little risk would look good on you.”

You ignored him, your voice cold and steady. “Leadership isn’t about looks, it’s about action—and I’m here to deliver on what matters.”

He shrugged, still watching you with that knowing gleam in his eyes. “I don’t know. I think everyone here knows you’re stunningly good at delivering.”

A murmur ran through the crowd, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of reacting. “What matters here is the country, not your charm.”

“Who says I can’t have both?” he teased, eyes never leaving yours. “And here I thought you liked a man who could multitask.”

You barely managed to hold back a scoff, but he just smiled wider, clearly enjoying himself.

He leaned back, crossing his arms as he looked at you with a slow grin. “Seeing you this riled up is almost worth losing for.”

The debate went on, your responses precise, his flirtations relentless. Finally, as it was drawing to a close, you turned to wrap up. But his voice cut through once more.

“You know,” he said, that playful smirk in place, “if this doesn’t work out for you, I’m always open to making you the First Lady.”

The crowd gasped, cameras flashing, and you barely kept your composure. You shot him a withering look, your voice unwavering.

“Keep dreaming,” you replied sharply. But the spark in his eyes told you he’d already gotten exactly what he wanted.