My mother said I should stay in the kitchen during the wedding photos—only until the “important guests” were gone. I didn’t mention that for the past year I had been

Now came the harder part: teaching them that seeing me wasn’t the same as using me.

Part 5

In late October, my think tank landed in the middle of a political storm.

A draft policy memo—one I’d contributed to—was leaked online, stripped of context, and spun into a story about influence and backroom deals. The irony was almost laughable: I’d spent my career trying to make policy more transparent, and now transparency was being used like a weapon.

A reporter emailed me directly. Then another. Then three more.

Was I working with the administration? Was I feeding Daniel insider information? Was my relationship a conflict of interest?

I sat in a conference room with legal counsel and my supervisor while my phone buzzed itself toward death.

“You need to say nothing,” counsel instructed. “Let communications handle it.”

My supervisor looked exhausted. “Sophia, I’m not blaming you,” he said quickly. “But you understand what this looks like.”

“It looks like people don’t believe a woman can be competent without being connected,” I said, sharper than I meant.

He flinched. “That’s not—”

“It’s exactly that,” I said, then forced myself to breathe. “I’ll follow the protocol. I’m just… angry.”