Chapter 4: 4. Too Little/Too Much

the grudge - Olivia Rodrigo

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New York City – Senator Diana Reed’s Apartment

The morning sun slices through the curtains, casting lines of gold across the silk sheets. You lie awake, staring at the ceiling, the weight of last night still pressing against your skin. Diana is beside you, draped in the expensive comfort of her bed, her breathing even and unbothered.

You should feel something—satisfaction, distraction, even just the relief of forgetting for a little while. But you don’t. The sheets smell like her, but they don’t feel like home. Sure Diana was hot, and treated you somewhat nice. But you knew her intentions.

Home was never this. At this point, you don't know if you ever had a home.

Carefully, you slide out of bed, reaching for your phone, only to see the news already breaking across your screen:

PRESIDENT HARRIS AND SENATOR REED: POLITICAL TENSIONS RISE AS PERSONAL CONNECTIONS COME INTO QUESTION

You exhale slowly. So it begins.

You don’t have to read the full article to know what it says. The media is running wild with theories, speculation about the nature of your alliance with Diana. Some call it strategic. Some call it personal. But no one knows the truth—not really.

Diana stirs, stretching like a satisfied cat before propping herself up on one elbow.

"We’re making waves, sweetheart." Her voice is lazy, amused. "That didn’t take long."

You glance back at her, your expression unreadable. "You expected this."

"Of course I did." She smirks, unbothered. "Kamala’s people will have to scramble. The administration will spin this however they can, but the damage is done. You’re part of my narrative now."

You don’t like the way she says it.

"And what narrative is that?" you ask, keeping your voice light but cautious.

Diana sits up fully, pushing her hair back. "The one where we remind the country that their perfect President isn’t as untouchable as she wants them to believe."

There it is—the reason she wanted you close. The reason she held your hand in public, kissed you in spaces where cameras lurked. You knew her intentions with you weren't clear but this was never just about you. It was about leverage. About war.

And suddenly, you’re not sure which battle you’re really fighting anymore. Or if your

The White House – Kamala’s Office

Kamala’s phone screen is lit up with headlines, her inbox flooded with concerned messages from aides, strategists, and donors alike. The narrative is slipping.

And at the center of it all: you.

Doug stands across from her desk, arms crossed. He’s been watching her for the past five minutes, waiting for her to say something, anything.

"Say what you’re thinking," she finally mutters.

Doug sighs, shaking his head. "You know exactly what I’m thinking, Kamala."

She rubs a hand over her face, exhaling sharply. "I didn’t expect her to—" She stops herself. No, that’s a lie. She did expect this. She just didn’t expect it to hurt like this.

"You thought she’d move on quietly?" Doug asks, unimpressed. "That she’d just disappear from this world? Respectfully, thats really foolish to think."

Kamala looks away, jaw tight. "She’s aligning herself with Diana Reed."

"And?" Doug challenges. "You chose this, Kamala. You told her she couldn’t be part of your life anymore. And now she’s building a life without you. Why does that bother you?"

Kamala doesn’t answer. She can’t. She knows Doug is right.

Doug sighs, softer this time. He’s always been the only person in this building who speaks to her like she’s human, not just the President of the United States.

"I know you still love her," he says quietly. "But if you’re not going to fight for her, you don’t get to be angry that someone else is."

Kamala clenches her fists, her throat tightening. Diana wasn't fighting for her."She doesn’t love Diana."

Doug gives her a knowing look. "Maybe not. But she’s with her."

And that’s almost worse.

The Collision – A Gala in Manhattan

It happens at a high-profile charity gala, where the wealthiest and most powerful rub elbows beneath glittering chandeliers. Kamala is here as the keynote speaker. Diana is here because she loves a well-placed spectacle.

And you? You’re the bridge between them. The war neither of them will name but both refuse to lose.

You stand at Diana’s side, champagne flute in hand, as Kamala makes her way through the crowd. You know the second she sees you. The shift is subtle—her spine straightens, her smile tightens just enough to betray her focus.

Doug, ever the mediator, steps in before the inevitable can unfold. He always knew how to keep the balance.

"Madam President," Diana greets smoothly, offering a polite nod. Extending her hand for a hanshake. "You’re looking well."

Kamala doesn’t even glance at her. Her eyes are locked on you.

"Can we talk?" she asks, her voice low but firm.

Diana chuckles, stepping slightly closer to you. "I don’t know, Kamala. I think we’re past private conversations, don’t you?"

"I wasn’t talking to you," Kamala says sharply, her patience thinning.

You meet her gaze, steady but unreadable. For a long moment, you don’t respond. You weren't sure if you wanted to talk anymore.

But then, finally— "Fine."

Diana tenses beside you but doesn’t stop you. She lets you go, because she knows this moment isn’t about winning. It’s about making sure Kamala loses.

Private Balcony

You step out into the cool Manhattan night, the city stretching beneath you. Kamala follows, the tension thick enough to suffocate.

"This is dangerous," she says finally.

You arch an eyebrow. "You’re worried about my safety now?"

She exhales, her frustration evident. "I’m worried about you being used as a pawn in Diana’s war against me."

You let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, now you care about how I’m being used?"

Kamala steps closer, her voice softer now. "I never wanted this for you."

"You didn’t want anything for me," you snap. "You wanted me gone."

She flinches. For the first time, she doesn’t have a rehearsed response.

You shake your head, stepping back. "You ended things to protect your career, Kamala. You didn’t think about what that would do to me- not for a second. And now that I’ve found something—someone—to hold onto, you don’t get to act like I’m making a mistake."

Her jaw tightens. "She doesn’t love you."

You smirk, but there’s no real humor in it. "Neither did you, apparently."

Kamala’s breath hitches. For a second—just a second—her mask cracks, and you see it. The regret. The longing. The ache.

But she doesn’t say what you need her to. She never does.

So you turn away first, walking back inside, back to Diana, back to the world that isn’t hers anymore.

And Kamala?

She stays behind, alone with the ghosts.

A/N : votes and feedback appreiciated btw!!