Page 3 of The Bodyguard

GET OUT OF THE RACE BEFORE YOU BLEED FOR REAL.

She forced her fingers to stay still, though her nails bit into her palms.

“Probably just a prank,” Andi said, setting the letter down with deliberate care and reaching for her phone. “You know how people get when they think they’re being clever. Some anonymous jackass with a twisted sense of humor.”

“You don’t really believe that.” Maya set the coffee down and folded her arms. “This is the third threat in two weeks, and this one... this one is personal.”

Of course it was. Andi’s name was on the envelope, hand-lettered in the same rusty red ink, and the return address read like a joke:Truth Hurts, Chicago IL.No zip code. No mercy.

“I’ve got a live debate in two hours, Maya. I’m not giving the press the satisfaction of watching me flinch.”

Maya’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses. “You’re not bulletproof, Andi. You might be a badass, but you’re still human.”

“Tell that to the voters.” Andi stood, smoothing the navy slacks she’d chosen for the debate—a subtle show of strength, clean lines, no-nonsense fabric. Her stylist had begged her to wear something softer, more ‘approachable.’ She refused. She wasn’t running for prom queen. She was running for mayor.

And someone clearly didn’t want her to win.

Maya opened her mouth to argue again, but Andi cut her off with a raised hand. “No press leaks. No gossip. If anyone asks about the letter, tell them I laughed it off over a latte. Don’t even blink.”

Andi picked up the envelope and walked it to the shredder.

She didn’t laugh. Not even once.

* * *

Two hours later, the scent of hairspray and anxiety clung to the backstage hallway of the city auditorium. Volunteers scurried like ants around podiums and camera rigs while a makeup artist dabbed a brush under Andi’s left eye.

“You sure you want to keep the hair down?” the artist asked, biting her lip. “It’s just—your opponent’s camp keeps saying you’re trying to look ‘too glamorous for serious politics.’ Maybe a ponytail would?—”

“If I change one damn thing about myself to please a man who can’t even pronounce ‘infrastructure,’ I’ll withdraw from the race right now.” Andi stepped back, letting the curtain fall between her and the well-meaning, overly ambitious stylist.

Across the stage, Senator Rick Wexler stood smiling like he owned the air between them, shaking hands with the moderator and whispering something in her ear that made her laugh a little too hard. Cameras flashed. An intern dropped a clipboard.

He caught Andi’s eye and gave a subtle nod, as if this whole thing were just a friendly spar between equals. It wasn’t. Rick Wexler wasn’t just another opponent—he was a man with a long memory and a vindictive streak.

And he knew exactly what to say to cause the most damage.

The opening questions were predictable—housing, education, and crime prevention strategies. Andi hit her points hard, speaking clearly, forcefully, not hiding her disdain for Wexler’s polished talking points or the soft-shoe dance he did around the corruption charges dogging his campaign.

But then the moderator smiled a little too smoothly.

“Councilwoman Donato, it’s admirable how transparent you’ve been about your record, especially your dedication to community improvement. However,” she said, voice honey-slick, “there have been some... renewed concerns about your judgment in past relationships. How would you respond to critics who question your decision-making—particularly when it comes to associating with individuals later linked to criminal behavior?”

The room hushed. Andi’s heart stopped for one quiet beat. Then it thundered.

Rick stood still as a marble statue, the ghost of a smile touching the corners of his mouth. The bastard didn’t even have to say her name. The insinuation was enough. Everyone knew she’d once dated him—before the cocaine charges. Before the photos. Before the sealed arrest records.

Careful. Do not show fear.

Andi’s lips parted. “I would say experience builds judgment. I made a mistake, and I walked away before it cost me more than my pride. But I’ll tell you what I’ve never done—sold lies to voters, accepted donations from criminal organizations, or turned my back on the people I swore to protect.”

The audience murmured, and the moderator blinked.

“I’ve never been afraid to own my choices,” Andi added, “but some people would rather pretend their sins don’t exist just because they never got caught.”

Rick shifted behind his podium. And that was enough.

She kept her voice level, but fire simmered in her gut. Not just from the ambush—but from the reminder. The memory. She could still see herself at that party, arguing with Rick in the shadow of a glass coffee table dusted with lines of cocaine, begging him to walk away before it was too late.

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