The moment Vanessa hit "LIVE," the air around her thickened like humidity before a storm. Her emerald earrings trembled with every breath she took, her chest rising and falling with a fury she could no longer hold. The glow from her phone lit her face in harsh white, exposing more truth than makeup ever could.
"Let me tell y'all," she said, voice shaking with rage and humiliation,
"who this man REALLY is—"
Behind her, Alex Christie froze.
The Prime Minister.
The country's polished golden son.
The man who never lost composure — until now.
His eyes widened, shoulders going rigid with a fear so sharp it cut straight through his practiced calm.
"Vanessa," he murmured, stepping toward her. "Please. Don't do this."
But she wasn't listening. Not to him. Not to reason.
She wasn't even hearing the sound of her own breath.
Pain had overtaken everything inside her — and pain had hands.
It pushed her forward.
It pulled the country in.
"Oh no," she said, angling the phone to capture her full face. "You ain't gon' shush me tonight. Not after what you just did."
The comments flooded instantly:
WHAT HE DO?!
Sis talk FAST!
He embarrass you at the gala?
DROP THE RECEIPTS NAH!
We READY!
Vanessa inhaled sharply — the kind of breath you take when you're about to leap off a cliff you built yourself.
"You wanna act like we ain't together?"
Her thumb hovered above her phone.
"Cool. Lemme show y'all the texts from LAST NIGHT."
Alex's heart slammed against his ribs.
Not because of the texts.
Not because of the voice notes.
Not because of the sweet nothings at midnight.
But because he knew — deep, in-the-pit-of-his-stomach knew — what else lived in that message thread.
Private photos.
Intimate videos.
Messages that weren't for public consumption.
Parts of his body — parts of hers — that belonged only behind closed doors.
His blood ran cold.
"Vanessa—" His voice cracked. "Please. Don't scroll."
She didn't even glance at him.
The screen flipped.
Blue bubble after blue bubble filled the live feed:
his "I miss you,"
his "I can't sleep without you,"
his "I want tonight to be calm."
Every intimate voice note.
Every soft confession.
"This the SAME MAN," she said, voice rising, "who begging me for patience. But in public?"
She scoffed.
"He call me his FRIEND."
She laughed — sharp, wounded, manic.
Alex moved fast — a step quicker than Vanessa had ever seen him in six months.
"Vanessa, stop. Please, babe — please stop."
She stepped around him.
"No. YOU stop. You had me sitting out there like some ornament. Some secret."
Her thumb flicked, scrolling dangerously close to the media bar.
A blurred preview flashed on-screen —
a skin-toned, unmistakably intimate thumbnail.
Vanessa barely noticed it.
Alex did.
His entire body jolted as if someone pulled the floor from beneath him.
"That's enough!" His voice shook. He almost grabbed her phone, then froze — knowing that would make everything worse.
He lowered his voice, raw, pleading.
"Vee… please. Don't open anything else. There are things in there that cannot be seen publicly. Things that will destroy both of us. Please."
For the first time — just for a second — Vanessa hesitated.
Her thumb trembled.
Her breath hitched.
But pride reclaimed her before reason could.
"Destroy US?" she hissed. "Alex, YOU already destroy us."
The viewer count hit 12,000.
People in the ballroom streamed the live, whispering into each other's ears.
Servers stopped walking.
Security froze.
Everyone was watching a nation's scandal unfold in real time.
Shelly Munns — his press secretary — finally burst into the hallway, heels clicking like gunfire.
"Prime Minister, we need to MOVE. Now."
She reached a hand toward Vanessa but thought better of it.
"Ma'am… please. Let's talk somewhere private—"
Vanessa recoiled.
"Don't touch me. Nobody touching THIS PHONE."
The comments hit a new level:
DROP DA AUDIO
WE LOCKED IN
THIS THE SCANDAL OF THE YEAR
BAHAMAS, WE BLESSED
Vanessa tapped a voice note.
Alex's soft, tired voice filled the corridor:
"I care about you, Vee. I just… I need time. My mother is watching everything I do. I don't want to introduce anyone publicly unless it's official. I'm trying to protect us."
She replayed it.
Twice.
"There it is," she said to the phone. "He scared of his mummy. But he ain't scared to embarrass me."
Alex's eyes closed. His chest tightened with a fear he couldn't name.
He wasn't afraid of exposure — he was afraid of her getting hurt in the fallout.
Afraid of the world seeing her that way.
Afraid of her becoming a weapon for political enemies.
"Vanessa," he said quietly, "this isn't just you and me anymore. This is national."
"Oh now it's national?" she snapped. "It wasn't national when you reduce me to a FRIEND?"
Shelly's phone buzzed violently. She checked it.
Her face turned paper-white.
"Prime Minister," she whispered, "the opposition just reposted the clip."
Alex stiffened.
"They WHAT?"
"They captioned it—"
She swallowed.
"'If he can't manage one woman, how he gon' manage a country?'"
The hallway buzzed with murmured horror.
Vanessa's eyes widened with a flicker of guilt — then hardened again.
"Oh well," she said. "Maybe they need to see the real you."
Shelly nearly fainted.
"You don't understand. This is a leadership crisis. A national optics nightmare."
Vanessa laughed — bitter and unhinged.
"All I want is acknowledgment. And you acting like that is a CRIME."
Alex stepped forward, lowering his voice into something dangerously calm.
"Yes," he said. "Right now it is."
Something in Vanessa's chest stuttered.
For a single heartbeat, she looked small.
Vulnerable.
But betrayal swallowed softness whole.
"You know what?" she said, lifting the phone again.
"Let me tell y'all the REAL reason he hiding me—"
Alex moved so fast it startled people.
"No. Vanessa. STOP."
But her momentum was unstoppable.
"—because his mummy don't like me!"
Gasps.
Screams.
Phones shaking.
"She say I too loud, too flashy, too 'not Christie material.' She say I don't belong beside him."
Alex swallowed hard.
"Vanessa, don't drag my mother into this. She's not even here."
"She ALWAYS here! She in our relationship! She controlling YOU!"
Meanwhile — miles away, across the water —
Aunt Beverly paused while shelling peas in her Andros kitchen.
She looked toward Nassau, brows furrowing.
"Hmm," she murmured. "Trouble just break loose."
Back at the gala, Shelly was now pacing, phone buzzing nonstop.
"Prime Minister, we need to escort you out IMMEDIATELY."
Vanessa swung the camera toward Shelly.
"Oh look. The PR police."
"Ma'am—"
"You see what's funny?" Vanessa said, voice shaking. "Everybody protecting HIM. Who protecting ME? Who protecting my dignity?"
Comments flew like confetti:
YOU RIGHT SIS
MEN DOES LOVE TO HIDE PEOPLE
EXPOSE ALL OF THEM
THIS BETTER THAN NETFLIX
Another buzz.
Shelly jumped.
"Oh God," she whispered. "Mrs. Christie is calling."
Alex's face cracked — fear, anger, shame all colliding.
Vanessa smirked.
"Put her on. I ready."
That was it.
Alex snapped.
"ENOUGH."
The word ricocheted through the hallway.
Even the comments slowed.
His voice carried a weight that made people straighten.
"You do NOT get to attack my mother. You do NOT get to destroy my family. You do NOT get to sabotage my position because you're angry."
Vanessa's throat tightened.
Tears gathered, unfallen.
He had never spoken to her like that.
Not once.
"Sabotage?" she whispered.
"Alex… you already sabotage us."
He stepped closer — not as Prime Minister now, but as a man begging not to be ruined.
"Vanessa," he said softly, "please don't show anything else. Please. I'm begging you."
His voice broke —
not for the nation,
but for her.
"For anything you ever cared about between us… stop now. Those photos weren't meant for anyone else. They will destroy your dignity and mine."
Her breath hitched.
Her fingers trembled.
For one fragile second, she almost listened.
Almost.
But heartbreak was louder.
She lifted the phone one last time.
"If he won't acknowledge me," she said, "then let me free myself right now."
A pause.
A breath.
A final blow.
"I done with him."
She ended the Live.
Silence swallowed the hallway.
Alex stood frozen, devastation carved into his face.
Vanessa lowered the phone slowly, her heart still pounding in the aftermath of the storm.
Shelly cleared her throat shakily.
"Prime Minister… we need to move."
Alex nodded once, jaw tight, pain darkening his features as he walked away with security.
Upstairs, in a secured suite, senior advisors replayed the video on loop.
"This is catastrophic," one whispered.
Another pushed his glasses up. "The mother angle is already trending. The blurred photo preview is circulating."
A third leaned closer, voice sharp, urgent.
"We need a new national figure — fast."