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

Advance team is coordinating with local security for tomorrow. They’re confused why you’re listed in the back. Want to explain?

I stared at the message, at the ridiculousness of my life: my family treating me like an embarrassment while federal agents planned around my existence.

I typed back, Just go along with whatever they say. Try not to make waves.

His response came immediately.

Too late. Wherever you’re sitting is now part of the secure perimeter.

I lay back on my childhood bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to the ceiling from when I was twelve. I’d forgotten they were there. I’d forgotten that at twelve I’d thought I might become an astronaut.

At twenty-seven, I was still learning what it meant to take up space.

Tomorrow, my family planned to put me in the shadows.

Daniel had other plans.

Part 2

Saturday morning arrived with perfect weather, the kind that made everything feel staged. A bright sky. Crisp air. Sunlight that turned the grass on the Wellington estate into something magazine-worthy.

I dressed in the modest navy dress I’d originally planned—simple, safe, easy to disappear in. My mother wanted me to arrive after the ceremony began, so I timed my drive to slip in late. Invisible. Convenient.

At 10:00 a.m., my phone rang.

My mother’s voice hit my ear like an alarm. “Sophia, what did you do?”

“What are you talking about?”

“There are Secret Service agents here,” she hissed, as if whispering could shrink reality. “At the Wellington estate. They’re doing security sweeps. Asking about you. What is happening?”

I closed my eyes and leaned against my car door in my parents’ driveway. “I didn’t do anything.”

“They said something about a protected individual attending the wedding,” she said, the words barely comprehensible. “Sophia, please tell me you didn’t do something crazy like contact the White House.”

I exhaled slowly. There was no gentle way to say it. “I’m dating someone, Mom. Someone who requires security protection.”

A pause. “Who?”

“Daniel Chin,” I said. “The president’s son.”

Silence so complete I checked my screen to make sure the call hadn’t dropped.

“You’re…” Her voice wavered. “You’re dating the president’s son.”

“We’ve been together for a year,” I said, surprised at how steady I sounded. Like I’d been waiting a year to say it out loud.

“For a year,” she repeated, faint. “And you never mentioned this.”