Opposing Affair

Chapter 6: I Know

Julianna

I wake up feeling content as the morning sun peek through the curtains. I did not expect Ramello to stay the night so it's no surprise that he is not lying next to me. Although, I wish he could. I get out of bed and head to the bathroom to shower. After about an hour, I finally throw on some loungewear and order my breakfast. As I am waiting for my food, I video call the nanny to check in on Selah.

“Hey, Jess. How’s Selah?”

“She’s good. She slept in today, but I just made breakfast, and I’m about to wake her up. How was the masquerade ball?”

My mind flashes to the erotic night that I had. “I was great! You know how it is with politics, campaigns, and shit.” It was more than great! It was mind-blowing. I’m smiling too hard. I should not be smiling this hard. Damn it, I need to get it together.

‘I’m glad you had a great time,” she beams, not noticing a thing.

“Is that my mommy?” Selah approaches Jess with sleepy eyes. I love the relationship they have. Jess didn’t have to say a word as my daughter gets in the camera. “Good morning, mommy!”

“Good morning baby, did you sleep well?”

She nods her head. “Yeah.”

“That’s good. I’ll be home tomorrow, okay, and if you’re up for it, I will take you to the trampoline house. How does that sound?”

Her beautiful brown eyes lit up. “That sounds like fun!”

Selah is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. “Okay, be good for Jess.”

“I will,” she promises. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetie.” I end the call and, just like clockwork, my breakfast arrives.

After I finish my breakfast, I lean back in the chair and let my mind wander, my fingers tracing the rim of my coffee cup. Last night still lingers on my skin like a warm, delicious glow. The masquerade ball had been a swirl of elegance and whispers, but what happened afterward—what happened with Ramello—was nothing short of electrifying. I don't have much time to dwell on it, though, because today's schedule demands focus. The joint television interview is in less than two hours, and the stakes are higher than ever. I double-check my notes, reviewing key points and responses. But instead of anxiety, a current of confidence flows through me, fueled by the memory of Ramello's touch and his unwavering support. It's as though that brief, private moment we shared reinforced my resolve for what's to come.

Alianna arrives to prep me and I rehearse a few lines while she works. Soon, I'm in the back of the studio, awaiting my cue. Ramello is already there, standing tall and impeccably dressed. Our eyes meet, and he gives me a nod—a small but reassuring acknowledgment. I slightly nod back, a secret smile tugging at my lips.

The host's voice booms through the studio speakers. "Welcome, everyone, to today's special segment featuring our distinguished presidential candidates, Julianna Daniels and Ramello Rhodes.” The audience claps and cheers with some occasional booing from our supporters and non-supporters. Honestly, I find it funny how committed people can be to their political party.

The first few questions go smoothly as we each outline our positions. But the atmosphere shifts when a reporter digs into the recent smear campaign.

"Ms. Daniels, how do you respond to the allegations that have been made against you regarding your past?"

I take a breath. “The allegations are rooted in mixed up facts and malicious intent. But I believe that a person should be judged by their entire journey, not just the missteps. I've learned from my experiences, and I carry those lessons with me as I serve the people.”

The reporter turns to Ramello. “Senator Rhodes, your thoughts?”

Ramello fixes the interviewer with a firm gaze. “We all have pasts. What matters is how we move forward. Senator Daniels has demonstrated her resilience and commitment to integrity. Her focus is on the future, and that’s what this country deserves.”

The host moves on quickly, but the ripple effect of Ramello’s words spreads through the room. The subtle defense doesn’t escape anyone, and I notice the crew exchanging glances. Public speculation will undoubtedly follow, but for now, I'm grateful.

As the interview concludes and the cameras stop rolling, I cross the stage to Ramello, offering a handshake. “Thank you.”

He meets my eyes, a slight smile on his lips. “Always.

We part ways, but the bond between us feels stronger than ever. I wonder what tonight will bring. Shortly after, I retreat back to my room and there’s an envelope on my table with only my name on it. I frown as curiosity gets the best of me and open the yellow paper. All the color drains from my face as pictures of me from the masquerade ball are displayed. Not only that, but it’s also one particular picture of Ramello and I. s**t! I turn the picture and only the words I KNOW are written. ​I stand frozen, the envelope crumpling in my grip. The room feels colder, and I find myself pacing back and forth, unable to keep still. I can't believe this is happening. My thoughts race as I try to piece together who could have taken the photos and, more importantly, why. Who could know enough to use this against us?

Ramello and I had been careful, keeping our interactions professional in public, never lingering too long or offering more than a polite nod. But this image—this undeniable evidence—threatens to undo everything. My heart pounds as I consider the implications. Someone is using our private moments as leverage, waiting to pounce. I can't afford to show weakness, but the implications of this could be devastating—for my campaign, for Ramello, and for our relationship. I take a deep breath and force myself to think clearly. The room is too confining, and I grab my phone before heading to the balcony. Once outside, I dial Ramello's number with trembling fingers.

"Julianna," his voice answers, deep and reassuring.

"Ramello, we have a problem," I say, my voice just above a whisper. "Someone took photos of us at the masquerade ball. They left them in my room with a message."

"What message?"

"'I KNOW,'" I reply, the words tasting bitter as I repeat them.

There's silence on the line as he digests the information.

"I'm coming by," he says finally. "Don't do anything until I get there." I wait, counting the seconds, clutching the photographs tightly. A knock on my door startles me, and I swing it open to see Ramello, his jaw set, eyes focused. He steps in and looks around before shutting the door behind him.

"Let me see the photos," he says, his tone firm. I hand them over, and he examines them carefully. His brow furrows, and he meets my eyes. "We're not going to panic. This is meant to intimidate us, but we can turn this around."

"How?" I ask, frustration bubbling up. "If this gets out—"

"It won't," he interrupts, his voice steady. "But we'll prepare for that possibility anyway. I have a friend who can trace the origins of these photos, and see if there are any leads we can follow. In the meantime, we need to stay calm and keep our relationship discreet." I shake my head, finding solace in his composure.

"We can't let this ruin us, Ramello. Not now."

"It won't," he promises as he steps towards me and pull me into a hug before kissing my forehead. "We'll handle this together." The determination in his voice steadies me, and I know that no matter what unfolds, we're a united front in a discreet way. We sit down together, devising a plan to safeguard our campaigns while Ramello's friend searches for the source of the threat. The night stretches on as we strategize, and he stays until I fall asleep.​