Morgan Yates – Internal Monologue Over Three Days

  Day 1 – Nightfall

  “I said I’d sell myself. I thought I understood what that meant. But now—here I am. Not just crossing a line, but obliterating it. Hezri doesn’t ask questions. He just acts like I already belong to him. And maybe, on some twisted level… I do.”

  “His presence is suffocating. But also... liberating? There’s no pretending. No politics, no spin. Just force, desire, and certainty. Something every senator I ever worked for cked in spades. And somehow, the shame I expected—it’s not crushing me. Not yet.”

  Day 2 – Afternoon

  “I didn’t think I’d sleep at all st night. But I did. Like a stone. And woke up next to him like it was the most natural thing in the world. What the hell is happening to me?”

  “I keep waiting for the regret to crash over me. But it doesn’t. Instead, I find myself listening to him. Not just his words, but what he means. His view of power. Of women. Of legacy. It’s brutal. But... structured. There’s a pce for everything, even for me.”

  “CBI has survived on fumes and dreams for too long. Hezri offers something real. Something solid. And I don’t feel small around him. I feel… seen. I’m starting to understand what Rina meant.”

  Day 3 – Late Evening

  “I touched his hand tonight—not because I had to, but because I wanted to. That terrifies me.”

  “Is it power I’m drawn to? Or peace? For the first time in years, I’m not fighting to be heard. I’m not begging for scraps. I’m not compromising to survive. Hezri didn’t buy me. I offered myself—and that difference changes everything.”

  “Three days ago, I was a woman defending ideals on borrowed time. Now… I might be building something new. Something unthinkable. Not just survival, but strategy. Influence. Permanence. Maybe even… belief?”

  “I was raised to see men like him as tyrants. But what if tyranny isn’t the opposite of freedom—but a reordering of it? Maybe the West fears men like Hezri because they no longer know what to do with conviction.”

  Day 4 – Dusk

  “There’s no line anymore. Just moments now. I wake up and Hezri is already watching me, like he’s waiting to see what I’ll become. And the thing is—I want to become it. Not for him, not just for CBI. For me.”

  “I spent years preaching reform, compromise, slow fixes for a crumbling system. But what if the real change comes fast and unapologetic? That’s what Hezri understands. That’s what I’m starting to understand. He doesn’t ask the system to change. He repces it.”

  “I caught myself smiling at something he said—something I would’ve mocked st year. Something about obedience being a form of dignity. And for the first time, it didn’t feel like surrender. It felt like… crity.”

  “The old Morgan—the Hill staffer, the liberal idealist—she's still there. But she's quiet now. Listening. Watching. Reconsidering.”

  Day 5 – Afterglow

  “It’s different now. Not just the touch, not just the heat of it—but the way I’m unraveling, softly, like something I’d been holding onto for years has finally lost its grip. He doesn’t just reach into my body. He reaches into the pces I sealed off during every Senate hearing, every failed bill, every time I smiled at donors while dying inside.”

  “He knew. Somehow, he always knew I wasn’t a true believer in the old world. I pyed the part. I wore the bzer, spoke the lingo, banced between ethics and ambition. But deep down, I was tired. Tired of pretending equality would come in neat bipartisan packages. Tired of waiting for men who didn’t even want to understand.”

  “But he—Hezri doesn’t pretend. He takes. He leads. He tells the truth, even when it’s ruthless. And when he holds me after, I don’t feel discarded. I feel... seen. Like my strength isn’t something I have to weaponize anymore. It’s just something I am.”

  “And God—how I thought I would hate this. I swore I would never be owned. But he hasn’t owned me. He’s broken something inside me, yes. But not to ensve me. To let something else through. Something truer.”

  “Maybe this is what freedom really feels like—not running from power, but surrendering to one that finally doesn’t lie to you.”

  **"

  Interior — Sasha’s Converted Barn, Late Evening.

  The three women sit in a circle, a soft mp between them. Empty teacups. Quiet hum of wind outside. Sasha leans back, arms crossed gently, while Rina folds her hands over her knees, patient. Morgan Yates exhales like she’s been holding the words in for days.

  Morgan (softly):

  “I didn’t expect this. I thought I was making a deal. Selling myself, just to save what was left of CBI. I even said it out loud—whored myself for the future of my work. And for the first day or two, that’s exactly what I believed.”

  Sasha (calm, slightly skeptical):

  “But?”

  Morgan (smiling bitterly, then softer):

  “But it didn’t stay a transaction. It’s like—he didn’t just take my body, he pulled something out of me I didn’t know I’d buried. I’ve had power before, I’ve sat in rooms with senators, CEOs. But I’ve never felt power like that—not just being in it, but being allowed to dissolve inside of it, without being erased.”

  Rina (curious, composed):

  “Are you saying you believe in 6C now?”

  Morgan (shakes her head, then nods slightly):

  “Not like a convert. Not like a zealot. But... I can’t deny what I’ve felt. What I’ve seen. Hezri doesn’t lie to women. He doesn’t coddle us. He commands us—yes—but it’s not empty. It’s structure. Crity. Direction. It’s the first time I’ve felt like a man saw all of me and didn’t flinch.”

  Sasha (quietly):

  “You sound like me a few weeks ago.”

  Morgan (meeting her eyes):

  “Maybe we’re both further along than we want to admit. And maybe that’s okay.”

  Rina (smirking slightly):

  “I knew Hezri wouldn’t need to ask twice.”

  Morgan (soft ugh, almost a whisper):

  “I didn’t think surrendering would feel like this. Like... relief.”

  Let me know if you want to follow this with their reactions or Morgan’s next moves.

  ***

  Location: A quiet, upscale restaurant in San Antonio, Texas, tucked away in a corner booth. The low hum of conversation and clinking of silverware fills the air as soft jazz music pys in the background.

  Morgan Yates: (smiling warmly, cutting into her steak) "I’m so gd we could finally catch up, Izzy. It's been... too long. You’ve been busy, huh?"

  Izzy Cortez: (ughing softly, looking across the table with a hint of amusement) "You could say that. The Texas Legisture’s a bit of a circus, but someone’s gotta do it. Plus, you know—nothing in public defense ever quite prepared me for this kind of stage." (She sips her water and sets the gss down, her eyes scanning Morgan’s face as if trying to gauge how much has changed in the years since their st conversation.) "I saw your name in the papers recently. You’ve been making waves in a different... way."

  Morgan Yates: (leans back in her chair, the faintest smile on her lips, eyes glinting with a mix of nostalgia and something more calcuting) "You know me, Izzy. Always making waves." (Pauses, then her expression softens.) "But really, it’s not the same fight anymore. The ndscape has changed. And I think we both know it. Especially you. How’s the legistive life treating you?"

  Izzy Cortez: (her smile fades slightly, repced by a more thoughtful, guarded expression) "It’s... complicated. You know how it is. I’m still fighting for the same things—criminal justice reform, reducing mass incarceration. But it’s harder than it used to be. Every bill, every policy... it’s like pushing against a brick wall most days. It’s a fight that feels like it’s always slipping away." (She leans forward slightly, lowering her voice.) "And it doesn’t help that everything feels so porized now. Everyone’s got a side to take. Even the people I thought I could rely on are... compromised. You ever feel like that?"

  Morgan Yates: (pauses, considering the question before speaking carefully, her gaze narrowing just slightly, knowing this conversation could veer into risky territory) "All the time. But compromise... that’s what keeps things moving, right? Sometimes, you have to py the game, make the deals, even when you don’t like the price. I’ve learned that firsthand." (Her voice lingers on the word “game” as if tasting the irony of it.) "You’re in a good position, Izzy. You’ve got power now. You could really make a difference if you push in the right direction."

  Izzy Cortez: (her eyebrows furrow, a mix of doubt and determination fshing across her face) "And what direction is that, Morgan? The one that aligns with everyone else? Or the one where I lose myself in the process? I’m a Democrat, sure, but I’m not about to sell out to keep the seat warm for someone else." (Her hands tighten around her wine gss, her gaze unwavering as she searches Morgan’s face.) "You sound... different now. What’s happened to you? I remember you always pushing for the right thing, no matter what. Are you still that person?"

  Morgan Yates: "Here’s the thing, Izzy. I need your help. I’ve been watching how the 6C states are evolving—how they’ve started implementing these Femme Groups ws. They’re not perfect, but they’re building community strength. I want something like that in Texas. Something that empowers women, builds networks, gives them control and autonomy—without the whole polygamy thing." (Her voice is calm, but there’s an edge to it now.) "I want to see ws that protect women’s rights, create real opportunities, and build a support system that isn’t dependent on the state. But I need someone with the power to make it happen. Someone who knows how to work the system without selling out." (She leans back slightly, giving Izzy space to think.) "I know you can do this, Izzy. You just need the right push."

  Izzy Cortez: (her breath catches, her fingers stilling around her gss, as she absorbs Morgan’s proposition. She stares at her for a long moment, the weight of the request settling in.) "You want me to back a w like that? You want me to push something that... feels like it could be part of what 6C is doing, just without the controversial parts?" (She shakes her head slowly.) "I’m not sure I can just flip a switch and suddenly be okay with something that—"

  Morgan Yates: (interrupts gently, but firmly) "I’m not asking you to compromise your principles, Izzy. I’m asking you to see the bigger picture. The world’s changing, and the question is—are we going to change it on our own terms, or are we going to keep letting others dictate the rules?" (She leans in slightly, her tone unwavering.) "So tell me—what’s stopping you? What’s the real challenge keeping you from pushing for something like Femme Law? You know it’s needed, don’t you?"

  Izzy Cortez: (her gaze hardens slightly, and she shifts in her seat, clearly feeling the weight of Morgan's words. She exhales slowly, her mind racing as she considers her response.) "You’re talking about the same ws that 6C's implementing, right? The ones that seem... to ride the line between empowerment and control? How am I supposed to back something that might get me tied to them, even indirectly?" (She leans forward, her voice quiet but firm.) "You know how quickly people will twist that into something it’s not."

  Morgan Yates: (nods slowly, her expression not betraying any emotion, but her eyes harden with purpose.) "I get it. The optics are tricky, no doubt. But that’s why you’re the perfect person for this. You can sell it as something different—something that is different. Femme Law can be about empowering women to control their futures, build communities, and protect themselves. You don’t have to tie it to polygamy or anything the 6C promotes. You can shape it however you want."

  Izzy Cortez: (leans back, crossing her arms, clearly skeptical but intrigued.) "It’s not just about shaping it, Morgan. There’s the whole infrastructure—the pushback from my own party, the public. And let’s not pretend it won’t catch attention from people who’ll call it exactly what they want to call it, no matter what we say." (Her voice lowers.) "And then there’s the risk of getting dragged into a bigger battle. I won’t be the one to sell out my constituents just to make a political point."

  Izzy Cortez: (her jaw tightens, the pressure of Morgan's challenge heavy on her shoulders. She stares at Morgan for a long beat, the weight of the decision sinking in.) "I’ll think about it. But I’m not making any promises yet."

  Morgan Yates: (smiles, the challenge still lingering in her eyes, but the tension in her posture eases as she sits back.) "That’s all I’m asking for. Just think about it."

  ***

  Izzy sat on the edge of her bed, the dim light from her bedside mp casting a soft glow on the room. Her feet were bare, her legs folded beneath her, and her mind was still racing from the dinner. Morgan's words repyed in her head, sharp and relentless.

  “What’s stopping you?”

  She leaned back, her hand brushing through her dark hair as she stared at the ceiling. She knew what Morgan was saying. They both wanted the same thing—empowerment for women, opportunities, safety. Izzy had fought for that her entire career as a public defender, and it resonated with her on a personal level. The idea of Femme Law wasn’t foreign. It felt like something she could get behind.

  But the reality of the situation was gnawing at her.

  What would it cost?

  If she pushed for something like that, she knew her party would turn on her. The establishment was already wary of her progressive stances on criminal justice reform—any hint of aligning with a movement even remotely tied to 6C’s influence could be political suicide. She had spent years earning the trust of her constituents in Laredo, fighting for better resources, better rights, better opportunities. But pushing for a w like the one Morgan was suggesting? That could fracture the trust she'd built.

  Her own people might see it as a betrayal.

  And what about the party? They would scream at her for not prioritizing the policies they needed to pass. The budget. The immigration bills. The healthcare reforms. All of it. Everything else they wanted would get sidelined, and she’d be bmed for it. The thought of that, of her own colleagues accusing her of betraying the party’s agenda, made her stomach turn.

  Izzy let out a long breath, her fingers tapping absently on the edge of her bedside table.

  But if I don’t act…

  She had always prided herself on standing up for what was right, even if it wasn’t the easiest path. She had become a public defender because she didn’t want to see the system crush the people it was supposed to protect. And now, Morgan was asking her to fight for a cause that aligned with everything she had fought for. But what was the price? The stakes had never felt higher.

  Izzy stared at her phone, and for a moment, she thought about turning it off, blocking out the world. But Morgan’s challenge lingered in her thoughts.

  What’s it gonna be? Fear, or opportunity?

  The words stung, their truth cutting deeper than she expected. Morgan was right—this was about more than just policy. It was about doing something that would matter long after the party lines faded away. Izzy could feel the pull, that deep desire to make real change, but it wasn’t just about passion anymore—it was about survival.

  Her hand reached for her phone, her fingers hovering over the screen for a moment before she tapped out the number. She pressed it to her ear, waiting for the ring. She needed to know if Morgan could help. If she could make this possible without sacrificing everything she had worked for.

  The phone clicked, and Morgan's voice came through, calm and collected, as always.

  Morgan Yates: "Izzy."

  Izzy Cortez: (pauses, biting her lip) "Morgan... I’ve been thinking about what you said." (She exhales, frustration and doubt mixing in her tone.) "But the truth is, I’m stuck. My party won’t back me if I propose something like Femme Law. I’d be sacrificing my constituents. They’re not ready for that kind of change."

  Morgan Yates: (a pause, then her voice, smooth and confident) "I understand. But you don’t have to do it alone, Izzy. I have donors who will back you. They believe in this vision. They’ll make sure you don’t have to choose between your principles and your career."

  Izzy's heart skipped. Donors? Real backing? It sounded too good to be true, and yet, she could hear the sincerity in Morgan's voice. This was exactly the lifeline she needed.

  Izzy Cortez: (hesitant, but curious) "Donors? How serious are they?"

  Morgan Yates: "Serious enough to make sure this happens. You’ve got the vision, Izzy. You’ve always had it. Now it’s time to make it real." (She pauses, a subtle but confident smile in her tone.) "You just need the support. And I can make sure you get it."

  Izzy sat up straighter, her fingers clenching around the phone. For the first time that evening, a sliver of hope pierced through the weight of doubt.

  Izzy Cortez: "Alright. Let’s talk."

  Morgan Yates: "Good. I’ll have everything in pce. You’ll have the resources you need to push this forward." (Her voice drops lower, almost conspiratorial.) "It’s time, Izzy. You’re not alone in this anymore."

  Izzy hung up, the weight of the decision still heavy in her chest, but now, for the first time in a long while, there was a flicker of possibility. She could change things. Maybe, just maybe, she could make it work.

  But this time, she wouldn’t be doing it alone.

  ***

  The next morning, as Izzy sat at her desk in her office, her eyes scanned the usual stack of papers, bills, and memos. But when she opened her bank account on her ptop, something caught her eye—a notification from her trust account.

  She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and checked again. There, in stark contrast to her usual modest donations, was a deposit—a jaw-dropping 100 million from Azure Tide Aquaculture.

  Her hand trembled as she clicked the transaction details. The name was unfamiliar, but the amount—100 million—was anything but. She’d never seen such a rge deposit in her two years as a state legistor. The most she'd ever received for a campaign was a few hundred thousand from local donors, nothing close to this.

  Her heart pounded as she scrolled through the information. The company, Azure Tide Aquaculture, was a corporate entity, based in a small coastal town in Florida. The email address attached to the deposit was linked to an anonymous donor account, though Morgan’s name wasn’t explicitly tied to the transaction.

  Still, Izzy felt a tightness in her chest. This was it. Morgan had come through—this was the lifeline Izzy had needed to take the leap.

  The thought was both exhirating and terrifying. There was no turning back now.

  Izzy set the ptop down, took a long breath, and stood up. She needed to think, but there was no time. The moment of truth was here.

  Later that afternoon, Izzy stood at a podium in front of a crowded town hall, the cameras fshing as reporters scribbled down every word. The stage was set. The time to speak up was now.

  She looked out over the sea of faces—constituents, reporters, and lobbyists all waiting for her words. The pressure was palpable, but for once, it didn’t feel like a burden. It felt like a responsibility. She’d been given the opportunity to lead.

  "Thank you, everyone, for being here," she began, her voice steady, but with a conviction that surprised even her. "I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about where we are as a community, as a state. And I’ve come to realize that we are at a crossroads. We’ve heard a lot about policies that restrict freedoms, that oppress our most vulnerable, and that only seem to favor the few at the top. But now is the time to think differently."

  Her eyes scanned the room, watching as a few people shifted in their seats. She knew they were waiting for her to say something concrete. Something bold.

  "I’m introducing a proposal that will change the way we think about women’s rights, about gender equality, about empowerment. It’s called the Femme Groups Law. It’s a policy that focuses on empowering women, protecting their rights, and creating communities where women can live and thrive without fear of discrimination or violence.

  "Now, I know some of you might be thinking about the controversial ideas that have been floated in some parts of the country, such as those found in 6C states. But let me be clear—I’m not proposing anything that infringes on personal freedoms or takes us backward. There will be no polygamy, no restrictions on individual rights. What we’re talking about is empowering women to be leaders in their communities, to have access to resources and support, and to be free from oppression."

  There was a murmur in the crowd. Izzy could feel the tension shift. She pressed forward.

  "Communities where women have access to proper healthcare, where they are supported in their economic independence, where they are free to speak out and stand tall without fear of retribution. That’s what this w is about. We want to build a society where women aren’t just surviving—they’re thriving."

  Her heart was racing now, the words coming easier as she continued. "I know this is a bold proposal. But it’s a proposal that aligns with our values of freedom, justice, and equality. It’s a proposal that prioritizes women, our mothers, our daughters, our sisters, and our neighbors. It’s a proposal that will set us on a path toward true, sting change."

  She paused, letting the words sink in, watching the crowd’s reactions. Some were nodding, others skeptical. But they were listening. That was all that mattered.

  "I’m asking for your support in making this vision a reality. Let’s show the country that we are willing to lead in a new direction. A direction where women aren’t just talked about—they’re given the tools and opportunities to change the world."

  Izzy stepped back from the podium, feeling a strange calm settle over her. She had done it. She had made the first step into a new world.

  The reporters rushed forward, questions flying as they sought more details, but Izzy knew her path was set. The donors were in pce, the wheels were already turning. And now, it was time to fight for something bigger than politics. She was fighting for a future where women had real power.

  As she walked away from the podium, her assistant hurried to catch up.

  "That was bold, Izzy," the assistant said, breathless. "Do you think people will support it?"

  Izzy didn’t hesitate. "They will."

  ***

  Morgan sat across from Sofia Nguyen, watching her carefully as they both settled into their dinner. Sofia’s gaze was steady, and her posture, as usual, was one of calm deliberation.

  Morgan didn’t waste time. “Sofia, are you aware of what Izzy’s been talking about recently?”

  Sofia’s eyes narrowed. “Izzy? You mean her talk about the Femme Group Law? I’ve heard the buzz, but it’s not my area. It sounds risky, especially coming from 6C circles.”

  Morgan nodded, leaning in slightly. “It’s not about 6C. Izzy’s talking about empowering women, creating protected groups—nothing to do with polygamy. But it’s stirring the pot, and I think you could help us steer this in the right direction.”

  Sofia’s expression hardened. “I’m not the right person for this, Morgan. My focus has always been climate. I’m not about to jump into controversial gender ws, especially tied to 6C.”

  Morgan interrupted gently but firmly. “I’m not asking you to compromise your principles. But, Sofia, I can help you. I have the donors who can back your campaign—no strings attached.”

  Sofia’s eyes flickered. “Donors? What’s your angle here?”

  Morgan smiled, her voice low and convincing. “I’m just trying to make sure this goes the right way. I can guarantee you support. The right kind of support.”

  Sofia hesitated. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

  Morgan slid a piece of paper across the table. “Trust me. Give me your account info, and I’ll show you.”

  Sofia stared at the paper, still unsure. But she gave in, scribbling down the information.

  Moments ter, Morgan’s phone buzzed. She checked it with a quiet smile, showing Sofia the notification. “100 million. Right in your trust account.”

  Sofia blinked, her breath catching. “What the hell? Where did that come from?”

  Morgan leaned back, her expression calm. “I told you. I can make things happen.”

  ***

  Sofia sat back in her chair, her fingers gripping the edge of the table. Her mind raced as she tried to process the transaction that had just occurred—100 million. In her two years as an assemblywoman, she had never even seen a donation close to 5 million. And now, out of nowhere, a sum that could change everything had nded in her trust account.

  She closed her eyes, the weight of it settling in her chest. She had fought tooth and nail for green policies, for climate change action, for incentives that would benefit her community in Houston. But it had been a constant battle. Donations came in small, hard-earned chunks, and every dolr she received felt like it had been fought for with sweat and uncertainty.

  And now... this.

  She exhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm inside her. 100 million. She couldn’t even fathom it. She had never been offered anything close to this kind of money. All the endless hours of working, building retionships, crafting speeches that spoke to the urgency of climate change—none of it had come with this kind of payoff.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Politics wasn’t supposed to be about dolrs and backroom deals, but here she was. A number fshed in her mind—100 million—and with it, a growing question. What had Morgan promised in return?

  She had always believed in the power of grassroots movements, the strength of conviction over financial backing. But this... this was different. No one had ever offered her this kind of support without asking for something in return. Was this what it took to push forward meaningful change?

  Her fingers tapped nervously against the table, and she fought against the sinking feeling of compromise creeping in. Was this the only way forward? To py the game the way it was pyed by those who had the means?

  She knew the answer, but it left a bitter taste.

  ,***

  Dinner with Sofia, Morgan, and Jasmine

  The restaurant’s dim lighting cast soft shadows over the table, and the clinking of gsses filled the air. Sofia Nguyen sat back in her chair, swirling her wine nervously as she gnced over at Jasmine Flores, the youngest-ever Texas representative. Jasmine's sharp eyes were focused on Sofia, her expression a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

  Jasmine, ever the firebrand, leaned forward, her voice a little sharper than usual. “Sofia, you’ve been acting... different tely. First, the whole thing with the green policies, which, fine, but now... this talk about Femme Groups Law? Like what they’ve got in 6C states? What’s going on? It sounds way too familiar.”

  Sofia’s throat tightened. She had been preparing for this moment all night, knowing it would come sooner or ter. She exchanged a brief gnce with Morgan, who was sitting quietly, her gaze unreadable.

  “Jasmine, I—” Sofia started, but Jasmine cut her off, her voice ced with impatience.

  “No, no, let me finish. Izzy's been spouting the same rhetoric. Femme Groups Law. It’s like you’re both singing from the same songbook. What’s happening here? You’ve always been about green energy, climate change—you’ve been a beacon of progress, Sofia. But this... this feels off.”

  Sofia hesitated. She could feel Morgan’s eyes on her, watching her every move, silently pushing her forward. “It’s... complicated,” she said, her voice faltering a little.

  Jasmine raised an eyebrow. “Complicated? You’ve never been one to back down from a fight, Sofia. So why are you suddenly shifting to this?”

  Morgan finally spoke, her voice smooth and calcuted. “Sofia’s simply exploring new avenues for real change. And it’s not like you haven’t heard of Femme Groups Law, Jasmine. You’ve seen the shift in policy happening in the states under 6C’s influence.”

  Jasmine shot her a look, skepticism written all over her face. “You’re not fooling me. What’s in it for you, Sofia? You’re not some pawn to be used in some rger game, are you?”

  The tension at the table was palpable as Jasmine's skepticism deepened, her fingers tapping the edge of her wine gss, the rhythm betraying her agitation. She leaned forward, her sharp eyes flicking between Sofia and Morgan.

  "You're telling me this isn’t about money, Sofia?" Jasmine's voice cut through the silence, her tone turning bitter. "You think I don't know what’s happening here? The donors who pulled out when I started talking about inequality, about real change for the people in the Valley? Suddenly, I'm being cut off left and right because I won't py the game. And now, you're talking about this Femme Groups Law, acting like it’s all for progress—like this is the kind of policy I should be pushing? It feels like the same damn system, just wrapped in different paper. The same people who took their money and ran when I started calling out the real problems are probably behind this, aren’t they?"

  Sofia took a slow, steady breath. She'd heard Jasmine’s frustrations before—the feeling of betrayal, the struggle against the deep pockets of corporate influence. Sofia had felt it too. She looked at Morgan, who gave a small, silent nod, signaling her to push forward.

  "I get it, Jasmine," Sofia said, her voice calm but resolute. "I’ve been there, too. The donors who pull out when you start talking about what really matters. The ones who tell you to stick to the status quo. But this is different. You’ve been fighting hard for the people, and I know you don’t want to give up. But we both know change doesn’t happen without support. And sometimes, we have to take the help that’s avaible, even if it’s from pces we don’t always like."

  Jasmine’s eyes narrowed, still skeptical. "You’re telling me I should just trust you and Morgan, and go along with this because—what? You’ve got the money now? The same kind of money I was cut off from?"

  Sofia hesitated, but then she spoke the words she knew Jasmine needed to hear. "Jasmine, if you want to keep fighting, if you want to push the kind of policies that will actually make a difference for people, I can make sure you get the backing you deserve. I can get you the funds. The kind of funds that will give your voice the power it needs to cut through all the noise."

  Jasmine’s lips parted, her mind clearly racing as she processed what Sofia was offering. She knew how much money meant in politics, and how little she'd gotten in comparison to what she’d fought for. She was used to scraping by, being cut off at every turn because of her progressive stance. The temptation to take this offer was palpable, but Jasmine couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that twisted in her stomach.

  Sofia’s voice was softer now, almost pleading. “Jasmine, I’m not asking you to compromise. Just trust me. Give me your banking info, and let me show you what we can do together.”

  Jasmine sat back, a long pause hanging between them as she thought it over. The weight of the decision seemed to press down on her, but there was also a glimmer of hope—something that hadn’t existed in her heart for a long time. Finally, she sighed, the walls she'd built around herself crumbling just a little.

  “Fine,” Jasmine said, pulling out her phone. “I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt. But don’t make me regret this, Sofia.” She quickly typed in her trust account details and handed the phone over.

  Sofia entered the information with steady fingers, her heart pounding in her chest. Morgan leaned in, her expression unreadable, but there was a glint of satisfaction in her eyes.

  Less than a minute passed.

  Sofia’s phone buzzed. She gnced down, her breath catching in her throat.

  "100 million transferred to your account,” Morgan said, her voice smooth and controlled.

  Jasmine stared at the phone, eyes wide. She could barely believe what she was seeing. In all her time in politics, she’d never received anything close to that amount. She’d struggled just to get a fraction of that for her campaigns. And now here it was—100 million, a number she’d only dreamed of.

  Jasmine sat back, completely stunned. “What the hell...?”

  “Now,” Morgan said, her tone cool and calcuting, “you can make the changes you’ve always wanted. You don’t have to worry about donors pulling out anymore. You have everything you need to push those policies, Jasmine.”

  Jasmine remained silent for a moment, still processing the reality of the transfer. She had been cut off, ignored, and forced to fight with nothing for so long. But now, it seemed like the game had changed. She had the backing she’d always wanted. But at what cost?

  She finally met Sofia’s eyes, a mixture of gratitude and wariness in her gaze. “This... this changes everything, Sofia. But you better be sure this is what I want. Because if you lead me down the wrong path, there’s no going back.”

  Sofia nodded, her eyes steady. "I know, Jasmine. And I promise you, this is just the beginning."

  ***

  The Three Assembly Women Speak Out About the Femme Groups Law

  For the next week, the political ndscape in Texas began to shift in subtle yet unmistakable ways. The three assemblywomen—Sofia Nguyen, Isabel Cortez, and Jasmine Flores—each began speaking publicly about a new policy proposal that seemed to be gaining momentum: the Femme Groups Law. Although it was simir to the ws passed in some 6C-controlled states, there was one key difference: it excluded the controversial polygamy cuse, focusing instead on the empowerment and protection of women’s rights, economic autonomy, and family structures.

  Day 1: Sofia Nguyen’s Public Announcement

  Sofia took to the steps of the Texas State Capitol, a microphone in hand and a determined look on her face. The sunlight caught her sharp features as she addressed a crowd of reporters and curious onlookers.

  “I’ve spent my career advocating for climate action and the health of our pnet, but the fight for women’s rights cannot be ignored,” she began, her voice steady, confident. “The Femme Groups Law isn’t just about protecting women—it’s about ensuring that women have the ability to build their own futures, make choices, and thrive in every sector of society. It’s about creating a legal framework that empowers women, giving them the security and autonomy they deserve in every part of their lives—at home, in the workpce, and in public life.”

  The crowd murmured, some reporters scribbling down notes. Sofia continued, her speech gaining energy.

  “Some of you may have heard whispers about this w from other states. But I’m here to tell you: Texas doesn’t need to adopt those systems wholesale. We’re creating something better—something uniquely Texan. This w will support the establishment of female-run businesses, provide legal protections for women’s shared households, and ensure that no woman is left behind, economically or socially.”

  As she finished, the crowd erupted in appuse, though there were some skeptical gnces exchanged in the back rows. Sofia had made her stance clear.

  Day 2: Isabel Cortez’s Press Conference

  The next day, Isabel, or Izzy, held her own press conference, standing outside her district office in Laredo. With a fierce resolve, she spoke to the gathered journalists and constituents, her voice cutting through the Texas heat.

  “I'm proud to stand with my colleagues and fight for a w that acknowledges the lived reality of women in this state,” Izzy began, holding her ground against the questions firing at her from all angles. “As a former public defender, I’ve seen the damage done by a system that continues to neglect and marginalize women—particurly women of color. It’s time for change. The Femme Groups Law aims to give women the tools to organize, protect their families, and thrive in a world that has long held them back.”

  She paused, letting her words settle in.

  “It’s easy for some to say that this is a move backwards, that this is ‘too radical.’ But those people are ignoring the fact that, for so many women in Texas, this isn’t just a policy—it’s an opportunity for survival. The Femme Groups Law will create safe spaces for women to work together, protect their children, and create a better life. It’s a step forward for justice and equality.”

  Izzy’s words hung in the air, and while the crowd was rgely supportive, there were murmurs of doubt from the more conservative members of her district. Yet, Izzy stood firm, not backing down.

  Day 3: Jasmine Flores’ Fiery Speech

  By the third day, it was Jasmine’s turn. The youngest of the three, she was known for her firebrand approach to politics, always willing to fight against the establishment. Today, she held a rally in Brownsville, her hometown, with a crowd gathered along the Rio Grande, drawn to her energy and passion.

  “Too long, our voices have been silenced. Too long, the wealthy and powerful have made decisions for us without considering our needs,” Jasmine shouted, her hand raised high in defiance. “The Femme Groups Law is about power—about giving women in Texas the power to control their own destinies, to be the architects of their futures!”

  The crowd cheered wildly as Jasmine paced the stage, her words ringing in the humid air.

  “We’re not talking about polygamy. We’re not talking about anything that threatens our freedom. We’re talking about women helping each other, creating safe spaces, and putting our families first. This w will give us the means to protect the women who need it most, especially those in low-income communities and rural areas who are forgotten by the powers that be.”

  Jasmine’s eyes bzed as she pointed to the gathered crowd, her voice filled with emotion. “This is more than a policy—it’s a movement. And I will fight until every woman in this state has the resources and protections she deserves. I am proud to stand alongside Sofia and Izzy in making this vision a reality.”

  The appuse was deafening. But just as quickly, the murmurs began—questions about the w’s implications, about how it would be received in the legisture. Despite the overwhelming energy, the political battle was

  just beginning.

  As the days went on,