The air in the palace felt heavier than usual. After the poisoning attempt, Celestina’s security team worked around the clock to uncover the truth, but every lead seemed to hit a dead end. Anton, her chief of security, stood before her desk, a grim expression on his face.

“We’ve interrogated the suspect, but…” he hesitated, his jaw tightening.

“But what?” Celestina pressed, her patience already wearing thin.

“She’s dead,” Anton admitted. “She bit down on a cyanide capsule during questioning. We couldn’t stop her in time.”

Celestina leaned back in her chair, exhaling sharply. “So, we’re left with nothing again. No name, no connection, just another unanswered question.”

Anton nodded solemnly. “We’re combing through her belongings for clues, but whoever hired her made sure to cover their tracks.”

Celestina’s fingers drummed against the desk. “Keep searching,” she said, her voice steely. “And double the vetting process for every staff member in this palace. I don’t care how tedious it gets—I won’t allow this to happen again.”

“Yes, Madam President,” Anton replied before exiting the room.

As the door closed, Celestina slumped in her chair, her hand instinctively resting on her growing stomach. The pressure of leading a nation in turmoil while protecting herself and her unborn child was becoming unbearable.

That evening, as she sat in her private quarters reviewing documents, a sudden flutter caught her attention. She froze, her hand moving to her belly. The sensation came again, more deliberate this time—a tiny kick.

Her lips parted in surprise, and a soft smile spread across her face. “You’re here,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

For a moment, the chaos faded away. She closed her eyes, letting herself savor the bittersweet joy. The tiny life growing inside her was a reminder of what she was fighting for—a future, not just for her child, but for the entire nation.

“Everything I’m doing is for you,” she said softly. “You’ll have a better world. I promise.”

Two days later, Celestina attended a small, controlled public event designed to restore faith in her leadership. Security was tighter than ever, with guards stationed at every corner and attendees vetted thoroughly.

Standing before the modest crowd, Celestina delivered a speech filled with reassurances. “I understand your fears and frustrations,” she said, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. “But I want you to know that I am committed to rebuilding this nation. Together, we will overcome these challenges.”

The applause that followed was polite but subdued, the weight of skepticism still heavy among the people. As Celestina stepped off the stage, Anton immediately moved to her side.

“Everything went smoothly,” he said, scanning the area.

Celestina nodded, though she felt the strain in her body. “Let’s head back to the palace,” she murmured. “I need to rest.”

As soon as she returned to her chambers, her vision blurred, and her knees buckled. A guard caught her just in time, calling for the doctor.

“I told you not to push yourself,” the doctor said later, his tone stern. “Your body is under immense stress. If you keep this up, you’re putting yourself and your baby at risk.”

Celestina closed her eyes, guilt and exhaustion washing over her. “I don’t have the luxury of rest,” she whispered.

“But you won’t have a nation to lead if you collapse,” the doctor replied firmly.

That night, as Celestina tried to sleep, the whispers began. At first, they were faint, almost indistinct, but as the hours passed, they grew louder, more insistent.

“Betrayal… everywhere…”

“You’re not safe…”

“They’re watching you…”

She bolted upright, her heart racing. “Who’s there?” she called out, but her room remained silent and still.

The whispers didn’t stop, and Celestina pressed her hands to her temples. “It’s just the stress,” she muttered to herself. “You’re hearing things because you’re exhausted.”

But the whispers felt too real to dismiss. She got out of bed and paced the room, her mind racing.

The following afternoon, while walking through the palace halls to clear her head, Celestina’s foot caught on an uneven stone tile. She stumbled slightly, steadying herself against the wall. Looking down, she noticed that the tile was slightly raised.

Curiosity piqued, she crouched down and pushed at the edge of the tile. It shifted, revealing a small latch hidden beneath. She hesitated, glancing around to ensure she was alone, then pulled the latch.

To her astonishment, a section of the wall slid open, revealing a narrow, dimly lit passageway.

Her pulse quickened as she stepped inside, the air cool and filled with the scent of dust. The passage led to a small room filled with old furniture, books, and papers. A single oil lamp hung on the wall, casting flickering shadows.

Celestina approached a desk covered in yellowed documents and began reading. Her stomach twisted as she realized what she was holding—records from her father’s regime.

The documents detailed covert operations, financial manipulations, and assassination orders. Each page was more damning than the last, painting a picture of corruption and brutality.

In the corner of the desk, she found a map marked with secret locations, one of which was the palace itself. Her breath caught as she realized these were safehouses and hidden strongholds used by her father’s allies.