Page 99 of Velvet Corruption

There wasn’t time to linger on mistakes or regrets—not when every hour was eaten alive by strategy meetings, press briefings, voter outreach, talking points, interviews, polling data. I couldn’t afford to think about him…about Kieran

And I didn’t. Not really. Not during the day.

At night was another story.

At night, I’d open the drawer in my bedside table—the one I told myself was for practical things, necessities, stress relief. But tucked between silicone and satin was the scarf he’d used to bind my hand.

I didn’t take it out. Didn’t touch it. Didn’t have to.

But every time I came, I bit down on his name.

And then—then it was happening.

No, not an orgasm.

Election day. Kind of the opposite of an orgasm.

And tonight…Alek was grinning like an idiot next to me, because at leasthewas happy that I was about to win.

“You’re going to do it,” he said. “You fucking did it. I’m pretty sure you’ve won.”

It felt like drowning in light. In sound. It hit all at once, an overwhelming brightness that wrapped around me and didn't let go. People cheering. Hands clapping. Voices shouting over each other.

My name flashing on screens, the percentage next to it rising higher and higher. Reality struggled to catch up, everything moving in a blur of disbelief. I was winning. I was actually fucking winning.

The campaign office buzzed around me, too loud, too bright. My eyes scanned the numbers as they rolled in, disbelief churning with each update. My name. My percentage.

My brain lagged behind, unable to keep pace with what my eyes were telling me. It was like watching someone else's life play out on a loop. I stood there, frozen, caught in the middle of something I’d barely dared to hope for.

Someone popped a bottle of champagne. The cork shot across the room, lost in a sea of jubilant chaos. Glasses clinked. Peopletoasted. But the sound was muffled, distant, as if it came from underwater.

My pulse hammered against my ribs, faster and faster. The harder I tried to focus, the more it slipped through my fingers.

The numbers glowed in sharp contrast to the disbelief settling into my bones. Too bright, too sudden. Like the universe had flipped a switch without warning. Everything around me was motion and energy, a cacophony of voices and clapping. But in the center of it, I stood still, like the eye of a storm.

The office was a riot of red and blue, streamers hanging from the ceiling like veins, tables piled high with papers and buttons and half-empty pizza boxes.

Signs covered every wall. "Say Yes to Marquez." "Leadership You Can Trust." Nowhere to look that didn't have my name plastered across it. I swallowed, the room swaying slightly. It should have been grounding, seeing those words everywhere, but instead it made everything spin faster.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, blocking out the dizzying lights and the waves of people. Tried to breathe through the surreal, disconnected feeling. I was winning. Holy shit, I was winning. But it didn’t feel real. Not yet. Not when it was all happening so fast.

I held my breath, waited for it to sink in. Waited for the numbers to stop climbing, for them to come crashing down again.

They didn't.

Hands clapped my back, jostling me in different directions.

"You did it!" a voice shouted, but I couldn't tell whose.

Everyone was celebrating, swept up in the tidal wave of victory, and there I was, still a half step behind. Trying to catch up, to believe it was true. I blinked the world back into focus, the sharp edges of reality cutting through my disbelief.

But it was a slow bleed. The kind that doesn't feel real until it's already soaked through. I exhaled hard, my pulse still racing, the adrenaline of it flooding my system. How long had I held my breath?

Long enough for the room to take on a hazy, unreal quality, like a fever dream with too much color. I fought against it, let myself lean into the overwhelming press of noise and light.

A group gathered around one of the screens, shouting numbers and percentages at each other, their excitement feeding off itself.

The words blurred together, but I caught a few. Landslide. Historic. Unbelievable.

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