Page 8 of The Senator's Rival

“Likewise, Congresswoman,” replied Francesca with a confident grin. “I look forward to an engaging discussion.”

Then, they released each other's hands and turned to head in opposite directions. Each took her place at a podium. The moderator, a renowned journalist known for her impartiality, sat between the candidates with a calm demeanor, a stack of notes in front of her. In front of the stage, thousands of audience members were packed into the seats, buzzing with anticipation. The press section was filled to the brim, representing every major media outlet. Broadcasting to households across the country and around the globe. Cameras were positioned in several spots to ensure that coverage would be as complete and accurate as possible, capturing the scene from every angle.

The lights were bright. Francesca could barely make out the faces of the people in the crowd. She glanced sideways at Margot, who was smiling graciously at the cameras. She looked perfectly poised, her posture impeccable and her demeanor warm and welcoming. There was no trace of the cool, calculating ice queen that lurked beneath the surface, the Machiavellian strategist who would walk over bodies to get what she wanted. Instead, she appeared to be the caring, wise, trustworthy stateswoman that her campaign portrayed her to be. It was like watching a magician pull a rabbit out of a hat.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us for the first official presidential debate of this election season,” the moderator announced, her voice echoing in the large chamber. “This evening's format will be a series of opening statements, followed by a moderated question-and-answer session. Then we will conclude with closing remarks.”

Francesca focused on her breathing while the rules and procedures were outlined. Her pulse was racing, adrenaline coursing through her veins. It wasn't anxiety. It was exhilaration. Her body was primed and ready to perform, every muscle tight and alert, ready to spring into action and fight. A familiar excitement bubbled up inside her. The thrill of a good match. The joy of competing at the top of her field, while embracing the fire of rivalry ignited by a worthy opponent. Francesca’s blood was thrumming with anticipation and she relished the feeling, embracing it and letting it fuel her.

The moderator introduced the candidates, reading their titles and bios for the benefit of the viewers at home. She introduced the main topics of the debate—healthcare reform, education, and economic development—and invited Francesca to deliver her opening statement.

The stage lighting shifted, illuminating Francesca in a warm, friendly glow. When she began to speak, her voice was firm and clear, ringing through the hall with a natural strength and passion that could not be faked. She didn't have to pretend to be confident and she didn't have to force herself to project authority. It came naturally to her.

“Thank you, Ms. Johnson, and thank you, Illinois, for the honor of hosting this historic debate,” she began, inclining her head politely to the audience. “Right now, our country is at a crossroads. Throughout the nation, the cost of living continues to rise, while the average American family struggles to keep up with the pace of change. Many of our people are suffering under the weight of crippling student debt, record-high housing costs, and unconscionable healthcare premiums. I look at the young people of today and I see a generation of tremendous potential and extraordinary talent that deserves to be nurtured and cultivated, so that they may lead America into a brighter future. Our children deserve to have access to quality education, affordable healthcare, and job security. That is the foundation for a prosperous and united nation.”

Her gaze swept over the crowd, making eye contact with as many people as possible, holding her audience in rapt attention. Margot was listening with her hands folded in front of her, her attention fixed on Francesca with a neutral, contemplative expression.

“But beyond the problems facing our people, there is a more fundamental issue that we must address as a nation, and that is the corrosion of our core principles,” Francesca continued passionately, her eyes blazing with conviction. “We are a nation founded on the belief that all people are created equal and therefore have the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The whole world looks to us as a shining beacon of hope and freedom, and we must uphold and honor that legacy. For fifteen years, I have fought for justice, equality, and fairness on Capitol Hill. In my home state of Massachusetts, we have implemented firm workplace protections against discrimination for people of all walks of life, and the unemployment rate has gone down by twelve percent in the past decade. We need to expand those programs and implement similar laws throughout the United States, in order to guarantee that every citizen has the genuine opportunity to pursue the life he or she wants to live.”

Francesca’s voice rang out through the hall and power flowed through her with a magnetic intensity that compelled attention. In a matter of moments, she had taken full control of the room, drawing everyone's eyes to her. Francesca delivered her arguments with eloquence and poise, playing the crowd like a maestra directing an orchestra. She was in her element here, and she thrived on the energy that swelled around her. Francesca continued to rattle off talking points from memory, articulating her visions for a more just, compassionate country with fire in her eyes and steel in her words. By the time Francesca’s three minutes were up, she had the room eating out of her hand.

Then it was Margot's turn to speak. The spotlight pivoted to the beautiful woman who nodded politely at Francesca before beginning her own speech. She wore an enigmatic little smile, her lips pursed in a mysterious, sly grin that tugged at the corners of her mouth. Her eyes shone brightly beneath the harsh glare of the lights and she glanced across the room, taking in the crowd.

“My dear friends, I'm incredibly grateful to be standing here tonight, debating these vital issues with Senator Thurston,” Margot drawled charmingly, flashing a brilliant grin at her opponent. “My opponent is a remarkable woman with an outstanding record of accomplishment. However, I and millions of Americans question the wisdom of her plans to increase taxes, expand irresponsible programs, and invest billions in unnecessary, wasteful government spending. Will the policies Senator Thurston advocates for truly benefit ordinary, honest, hard-working Americans? No. Business owners throughout our nation will suffer under these tax increases, which will prevent them from growing and creating new jobs. The left likes to talk about social welfare, but their programs disincentivize self-reliance and instill dependency on the government to take care of people, stifling innovation and growth.”

So far, Francesca noted drily to herself, Margot hadn't said a single word about her own platform. It was a full-out offense with no attempt to defend or even mention her own political positions. Instead, Margot opted to demonize Francesca's agenda, playing off fear and insecurity rather than presenting alternatives of her own. No surprises there. Sometimes, Francesca wondered if Margot genuinely believed in anything she was saying, or rather, if she'd just learned to master the art of riling an angry mob.

“I fully support the government providing the American people with access to high-quality, affordable healthcare,” Margot continued, “but our current system has led to massive federal debt, and our seniors and disabled citizens cannot afford the skyrocketing premium prices year after year. Healthcare may have become more affordable for the wealthy elite, but what about for blue-collar families, rural communities, and struggling small-business owners, who lack access to adequate health insurance? They're being crushed by the astronomical costs that are crippling our economy and driving the American Dream out of reach for the average household. Senator Thurston comes from a wealthy liberal bubble, and her platform makes it clear that this is her priority. My friends and family in the South struggle to get by every day, and their wages are stagnating. We need to create opportunities by supporting American businesses, rather than punishing them for generating wealth.”

She went on in that same manner, painting Francesca as incompetent, out of touch, and uninterested in helping the working class. It was pure fiction, not to mention that it was also wildly hypocritical--coming from the dictionary definition of an entitled rich white woman whose family was made up of multi-millionaires who had made their wealth by exploiting laborers. Even now, Margot stood there in her thousand-dollar designer suit, speaking with the utmost confidence about financial insecurity for everyday Americans. Rage sold better than rationality, and hatred brought in ratings. Classic.

The rest of the debate continued in a similar fashion. Francesca presented compelling, powerful messages of hope and unity, while Margot poked holes in her opponent's logic and used cheap theatrics to appeal to emotion. For every passionate quote that invoked tears, cheers, or applause, there was a sound bite that fired up anger and resentment. As infuriating as this was, it was also strangely intoxicating. The two women danced back and forth, volleying questions and answers at each other, exchanging verbal blows and parrying ripostes with effortless, well-practiced ease.

Margot's ice-blue eyes shone with fierce determination, reflecting the intensity of her competitor's stare. Francesca could feel her pulse racing as they sparred, the rhythm of her heart kicking up to match the rush of adrenaline flooding through her every time they locked eyes. It was electrifying. Neither woman gave ground, striking blow for blow with such precision and force that the air itself seemed to crackle and pop around them, an invisible aura of tension emanating from the stage and enveloping the audience until every pair of eyes locked onto them with rapt, spellbound awe.

At the end of ninety minutes, the moderator called time, officially concluding the debate. They each gave their closing statements, adding parting remarks aimed directly at the viewers at home. Then they thanked each other and the viewers for joining in. The lights went down, signaling the end of the debate, and Margot flashed Francesca that insufferably sexy smirk of hers as they left the stage. She exuded a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction at a challenging duel well-fought. Francesca smirked right back, silently fuming at her rival's arrogance, even as her heart did a strange little flutter at the sight of her smile.

When the curtains closed behind them, Francesca breathed a sigh of relief. Her team escorted her to the waiting car, chattering about online reactions and impressions, but she was too exhausted to pay much attention to their reports. This would have to wait until tomorrow, when she had come down from the adrenaline high and the whirlwind in her brain had calmed enough for her to form coherent thoughts. Right now, all Francesca wanted was to go back to the hotel, have a quiet drink, and sink into bed.

She walked into the hotel lounge half an hour later, glad for the chance to kick back and relax. After the rush of the debate, her body was starting to feel stiff and sore. A glass of wine would help ease the tension in her muscles. Francesca didn't feel quite ready to crash just yet, though, and the hotel bar offered a comfortable, cozy atmosphere--dimly lit and warm with soft jazz playing in the background.

A drink sounded like the perfect way to unwind before hitting the sack. Her security detail ensured that she would be given a private booth in the corner of the room, which meant Francesca would have some peace and quiet to herself while she sipped her merlot and let the stress of the day fade. Glass in hand, she leaned back against the plush leather seat and stared up at the ceiling, feeling the knot in her back loosen as the warmth spread through her limbs.

This felt wonderful. Just a bit of space to decompress without having to worry about cameras or press. The soft, buttery light of the lamps cast a warm, golden glow across her skin and a cool breeze drifted in from the patio outside. The murmur of conversation throughout the room buzzed softly in her ears. Francesca was pleased with her performance on stage and hoped people would see that her ideas were grounded in reality, unlike those of her opponent, who simply floated through the world saying whatever people wanted to hear and never justified nor explained herself. How could you debate with somebody like that?

As Francesca opened her eyes, a flash of gold in her peripheral vision caught her attention. In the middle of the room, sitting at a table with her husband, was the devil herself--still wearing the same expensive designer suit she had worn onstage. Only now, her jacket had been discarded, lying haphazardly on the armrest of her chair, revealing the white silk blouse underneath. Francesca could see the outline of her breasts through the fine material. Her sleeves were rolled up to mid-arm and her perfectly manicured hands rested casually on the tabletop.

For a moment, Francesca found herself just watching, mesmerized by the easy, graceful elegance Margot possessed. But even with her husband, there was a kind of icy remove to her presence. Margot always seemed to be holding herself at a distance, as if she feared giving anyone the slightest glimpse inside her mind.

They seemed to like each other well enough—they were smiling and laughing together—but Francesca suspected there was no real love there. Only camaraderie and loyalty borne out of necessity, a silent understanding that they both benefitted from each other. They knew how to play the part of a happy, loving couple perfectly, but it was an act, nothing more. She wondered for a second if Margot really let anyone truly close to her. It seemed terribly lonely to live that way.

Just as she was thinking this, William leaned forward and kissed Margot on the cheek, then got up from the table and walked toward the elevator. When he left, Margot glanced around, and the two women met each other's gaze. A brief, wordless exchange passed between them. Their eyes lingered on one another for a moment longer than necessary and a strange warmth rose on the back of Francesca's neck. There was something about the way Margot watched her, a certain intensity and curiosity that caught her off guard.

Margot plastered on her usual dazzling smile, then rose to her feet and elegantly strode over to the booth where Francesca sat.

“Good evening, Francesca. Imagine running into you here,” she said breezily in that drawling Southern twang, sinking gracefully onto the chair across from her with a wide grin. “That was certainly quite a show, wasn't it? You were on fire tonight.”

“You might say that,” Francesca replied with an amused grin of her own, shaking her head at the woman's audacity. “I don't think I've ever met anybody as full of shit as you.”

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