Chapter 1

Rosalie

The alarm pierces through my dreams at 5 AM, but I'm already half-awake, my mind racing with bullet points and strategies. My bedroom wall, covered in Post-it notes and inspirational quotes, greets me with Michelle Obama's words: "There is no limit to what we can accomplish."

I stretch and grab my laptop, surrounding myself with campaign notes spread across my king-sized bed. "Education reform starts with..." I practice under my breath, adjusting my tone for the fourth time. The pitch needs to be perfect for Senator Matthews' team.

My phone buzzes. Mom's face lights up the screen - another missed family dinner from last night. I swipe away the notification, adding it to the growing pile of guilt I keep locked away.

"Numbers don't lie," I continue my pitch, shuffling through statistical printouts. "Thirty-seven percent of voters in your district prioritize education funding." The words flow easier now, muscle memory from years of early mornings and late nights.

A photo frame on my nightstand catches my eye - my niece's ballet recital from last month. Another event I missed. Between campaign strategies and donor meetings, my personal calendar looks like a war zone of crossed-out family commitments.

"This is what success looks like," I remind myself, picking up a coffee cup from the night before. My sister doesn't understand why I can't "just take a weekend off." But in this industry, weekends are when the real work happens. While others brunched and relaxed, I was building strategies that won three major elections last year.

The morning sun creeps through my window, illuminating the vision board above my desk. Headlines from successful campaigns, thank you notes from clients, and my own handwritten goals stare back at me. Each victory came with a price - missed birthdays, canceled dates, relationships that fizzled before they began.

I pull my hair into a tight bun, straighten my shoulders, and return to my pitch. "By implementing these strategies, we can increase voter engagement by forty-two percent..." The words are sharp, calculated, just like the path I've chosen.

I slip into my power suit - a sleek navy number that's become my armor in Washington's political battleground. The mirror reflects back exactly what I've crafted: a woman who commands attention, who makes politicians listen when she walks into a room.

"The data speaks for itself," I practice, adjusting my posture. My reflection shows confidence, but I need more. In this city, especially as a Black woman, being good isn't enough - you have to be exceptional.

My apartment, a carefully curated space in DuPont Circle, serves as both home and war room. Campaign posters from my victories line the walls, each one a reminder of late nights and calculated risks that paid off. The coffee table disappears under polling data and demographic breakdowns for Senator Matthews' district.

"When we look at the voting patterns… God damn it." I pause, studying my delivery. Too mechanical. These aren't just numbers; they're stories. Stories of communities needing change, of voters waiting to be heard. That's what sells in DC - not just statistics, but vision.

My phone lights up with messages from other campaign managers, all wanting to know if the rumors are true: is Rosalie Clark taking on the impossible task of reviving Matthews' struggling campaign? They'll have their answer soon enough.

I smooth down my blazer, catching sight of the framed article on my wall - "Rising Star in Political Strategy Reshapes Local Elections." That was two years ago. Now, I'm after bigger games. The national stage beckons, and Matthews' campaign could be my ticket there.

"Your constituents aren't just looking for promises," I continue, pacing my living room. The morning sun streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across strategy boards and district maps. "They're looking for action, for someone who understands their daily struggles."

The words flow easier now, carrying the weight of experience and ambition. Each campaign I've run has built to this moment. In a city where power shifts like sand, I've learned to plant my feet firmly and speak with authority that makes even veteran politicians take notice.

With a sigh, I stride into the kitchen and grab some ingredients out of the fridge. I crack eggs into a pan and my eyes gaze to a picture of myself in college. Smiling, my mind drifts to Professor Rodney Cooper's Political Theory class. Ten years ago when I was a baby-faced freshman in college, I sat front row, hand shooting up for every question, certain I'd change the world with pure passion alone. Back then, my biggest worry was making it to morning lectures after dancing all night at The Blue Room with my roommate Tanya.

"Girl, you need to live a little!" Tanya would drag me from my textbooks, forcing me into her sparkly tops that never quite fit right. But those nights... God, those nights were electric. Dancing until sunrise, debating policy with drunk philosophy majors, believing we could fix everything wrong with the system.

The eggs sizzle, and I flip them with practiced efficiency. These days, breakfast is a tactical operation - protein for focus, coffee for survival. Back then, breakfast was greasy diner food at 4 AM, sharing fries with strangers who became best friends for one night only.

"You're too smart to waste time partying," my advisors would say. But those parties taught me more about people than any textbook. Like the night I organized an impromptu rally after the dean tried to shut down the multicultural center. Five hundred students showed up - half of them still in their party clothes from The Blue Room.

I plate my eggs, adding hot sauce - the same brand Tanya introduced me to during our late-night study sessions. "This will keep you awake better than coffee," she'd insist, dousing everything in that nuclear-level spice while we crammed for finals.

My phone pings with another campaign update, yanking me back to reality. I take a bite of my breakfast, remembering the taste of those 3 AM pizza slices shared with my study group, all of us certain we'd be the next generation of political revolutionaries.

We were naive. But maybe that's what I miss most - that pure, unfiltered belief that anything was possible with enough determination and the right cause.

My phone vibrates against the granite counter just as I'm rinsing my plate. Jessica's name flashes across the screen.

"Tell me you've got good news." I wedge the phone between my ear and shoulder, wiping my hands on a dish towel.

"Better than good. I've got three major outlets ready to cover your meeting with Matthews. We're positioning you as the strategic genius who turned around the Wilson campaign last year. And now, you're about to do the same for the senator."

I lean against the counter. "And they're not focusing on the diversity angle again?"

"Please, give me some credit." Jessica's laugh crackles through the speaker. "Though having a Black woman revolutionize political strategy in DC makes for one hell of a story. But no - this time it's all about your track record. The Post wants to run a piece on how you're reshaping modern campaign methodology."

"Perfect." I load my plate into the dishwasher. "What about the senator angle?"

"Already planted the seeds. Once Matthews announces his education reform plan - your education reform plan - we'll make sure everyone knows who the architect is. Building your profile for 2028."

"2026," I correct her. I'll be 30 years old by then. "The midterms are our target."

"Ambitious as ever. I love it. Look, between the Matthews campaign and your community outreach program, we're crafting the perfect narrative. The strategist who doesn't just win elections - she changes lives."

"Just make sure-"

"That we emphasize your policy expertise over personality? Already on it. By the time you announce your candidacy, voters will see you as the natural choice. The woman who's been fighting for their interests from both sides of the campaign."

I check my watch. "Speaking of fighting, I need to head out. The meeting's at nine."

"Go get 'em, future Senator Clark. And Rosalie? Wear your blue blazer. It photographs better for the press."

"Already have it on. Thanks, Jess."

Hanging up the phone, my right hand grips the kitchen counter. I close my eyes, letting the weight of my ambitions settle over me. My neck cracks - one side, then the other - releasing the tension that comes from countless hours hunched over strategy documents. The silence of my apartment wraps around me like a familiar embrace.

This is it. The moment I've been working toward since I first stepped into a campaign office as an intern. Every late night, every missed family event, every sacrifice has led to this meeting. Senator Matthews isn't just another client - he's my stepping stone to the national stage.

I grab my leather briefcase, the one I splurged on after my first major victory. Inside, meticulously organized documents outline a path not just for Matthews' campaign, but for my own future. Every strategy I craft for him builds my reputation, positions me for 2026. It's so close I can almost taste it.

My keys jingle as I snatch them from the crystal bowl by the door - a housewarming gift from Mom when I moved into this luxury high-rise. The weight of the fob feels right in my palm, grounding me in this moment.

The elevator doors slide open silently - one of the perks of living in a building where rent costs more than my first car. The parking garage levels are marked with gold-plated letters, because in DC, even underground parking needs to feel important.

My heels echo against concrete as I walk to my assigned spot. Level P2, Space 147. Everything in its place, just the way I like it. Just the way I need it to be to climb this ladder I've set my sights on.

My Mercedes gleams under the fluorescent lights - another calculated choice. In this city, your car is as much a statement as your clothes. It says "success" without screaming "new money." Perfect for a woman who plans to have her name on campaign posters within the next four years.

I guide my Mercedes through DC's morning traffic, weaving between aggressive commuters and distracted Hill staffers. The familiar route to Capitol Hill stretches before me, each landmark a checkpoint in my mental preparation.

"Education reform isn't just about numbers," I practice, adjusting my rearview mirror. "It's about creating pathways to success for every child in your district, Senator."

A cyclist cuts in front of me, and I brake sharply. Focus, Rosalie. This meeting could change everything.

I pull into the reserved parking spot - a small privilege that comes with being a known entity on the Hill. The garage's artificial lighting casts harsh shadows across my dashboard as I kill the engine.

"Forty-seven percent of schools in your district are underperforming," I recite, checking my lipstick in the visor mirror. "But with targeted investment and community engagement..."

My fingers drum against the steering wheel. Matthews is old school - he respects data but responds to storytelling. I need to paint him a picture he can't ignore.

"Think about Maria Rodriguez, Senator. Honor student, perfect SAT scores, accepted to Yale." I pause, letting the narrative build. "But she's working at her parents' restaurant instead because even with scholarships, the cost was too high. That's the reality in your district. We need to invest in these people. They're our future."

The parking garage feels like a concrete cocoon, insulating me from the chaos above. Here, I can perfect my pitch, sharpen my weapons before stepping onto the battlefield.

This could be my moment. Matthews has the influence to make my future campaign smoother - assuming I can convince him I'm worth the investment. But I've learned the hard way that in DC, today's allies can become tomorrow's opponents.

"Never get comfortable," I whisper to myself, gathering my briefcase. "Comfortable gets you replaced."

I check my watch - twenty minutes until the meeting. Just enough time to review my talking points one more time, to ensure every argument is bulletproof. In this city, second chances are rarer than honest politicians.

And I don't intend to fumble my shot at greatness.