Julian did not look at her.

He kept his eyes on me, his hand still resting near the brass key on his desk.

“Are they reporters?” Julian asked.

“Reporters and a couple of men in dark suits,” Margaret replied. “Senator Whitmore’s personal security detail is with them.”

The library phone stopped ringing, only to start again two seconds later.

The red light on the console blinked like a tiny, angry eye in the dim room.

I stepped back, my heels clicking softly on the hardwood.

“I cannot stay here,” I said, my voice shaking. “If the press is outside, they will photograph me. They will photograph Emma.”

Julian stood up straight, his tall frame blocking the light from the fireplace.

“Let them photograph,” he said.

“No,” I insisted, shaking my head. “You don’t understand what it’s like. I have spent two years trying to keep our lives quiet.”

I looked at Margaret, hoping for an ally, but her face remained unreadable.

“I am resigning, Mr. Mercer,” I said clearly. “I will pack our bags tonight and leave through the back gates.”