"Okay, that will be all for today," Matisse said.

The students packed up their belongings and left. Matisse was halfway through clearing his desk when he heard someone enter.

"No questions, I'm done for today. I've already updated all the assignment notes on the intranet," Matisse said.

"Ahem."

Matisse lifted his head and pushed a few papers to grab his glasses, "Pierre."

"Matisse."

"How have you been?" Matisse asked, stretching out his hand for a handshake only to be grasped in a hug before being let go to hear, "Well and prosperous, son."

"I'm glad to hear that," Matisse said and resumed packing his bag.

"How about you?"

Matisse closed his bag, "Well, as you can see."

"And Jessica?" Pierre pursued.

"Good, too."

"I'm glad to hear it." Pierre looked about the amphitheater, feeling sorry for his mentee. A man as bright as Matisse couldn't end like this. "Time flies, doesn't it?"

Matisse sighed and looked at his empty class, "It sure does. I'm not the twenty-eight-year-old man I was."

Pierre had to concede that Matisse was no longer the young punk with unruly, curly hair. Now, he stood as a man whose face bore the marks of time passing, a man who had tamed his wild hair. The longer hair length, with its fifty shades of grey streaks, slicked back gave him a more mature demeanor. Of course, one had to disregard the flannel brown shirt and the dark rinse jeans. Pierre preferred Matisse in a suit, but that was a mere detail.

The old fox grinned, "Yes, but you are still a man who shaped the thoughts of our newly elected president. Severine often quotes you. I don't think she even realizes she plagiarizes your thoughts."

Matisse crossed his arms and stared at the older man, "Why are you here, Pierre?"

As expected, Matisse saw through Pierre's attempt to pass off his visit as a courtesy call. "I'm here to see old friends and to make you an offer."

"It's no," Matisse said firmly, without masking his determination, and slung his bag on his shoulder.

Pierre looked about and approached him, his voice carrying the weight of his persuasive tactics, "Matisse, listen. I'm forming a new party. It's an alliance with the Reformists and a few factions. I listened to you. You were right. It's not about right or left but coherence. The most coherent party wins. The party's lead is yours if you want it. We'll hold the majority."

"You're aiming for a cohabitation."

Pierre took a deep breath, "You said it yourself: One voice is fascism, and any extreme is wrong."

"Severine has yet to do something needing censorship. She's in what? Eighteen days into her term."

"Time is precious in politics. Don't tell me you pity her, Matisse. Severine's camp wants to plunder her. It's the perfect chance. Severine's Knight is old and flaky; she has no bishop. And her rookie rook minister of sports can't do anything for her. I can castle you. We can move while the public Severine entertains with gossip and scandal."

"Why me?"

Matisse had to ask. Pierre wasn't persuading him to counter just anybodyㅡit was Severine. Matisse wondered how much Pierre knew about his past with the president and how it would affect his decision.

Also, castling him meant Pierre saw Matisse as the King of his chess game.

"I know you, Matisse. I can only imagine the frustration of seeing someone else exploit your rhetoric. Once Liberal turned Republican. In reality, you are a man of the center, neither red nor blue. You are nuanced because you know politics is never black or white. We need a charismatic orator to sway the crowd and govern." Pierre laughed, "She even chose Christian Blanchet as prime minister. Can you believe that? The man could die any minute now."

Matisse nodded, "It's a good choice. Christian Blanchet is a veteran and an expert in foreign affairs. He has been senator and minister more than once. He knows everyone and everything. Her Knight is in good posture if you ask me."

"If that's the case, she could have appointed me to any minister."

Boxes, Matisse knew all Pierre wanted was to tick off boxes. It was a game for the man who spiced up his life by messing up others.

"Severine isn't stupid enough to lose a reputation by nominating you. You would have fought her anyway. You're far too sly to content yourself with a ministry. That's why I say no."

"Oh, my dear Matisse, you speak, but I see through you. Your political life was short-lived. Don't you want your second round? Don't you want those bastards to pay? Francois hides among the liberals. If the CL wins the elections, he'll pull the strings, trust me."

"I'm sorry, Pierre, I need to go. It's our eighteenth anniversary tonight. I promised Jessica I'd be home early."

Pierre let Matisse reach the door and threw, "Think about it, Matisse. You could be Prime Minister in 90 days."

Matisse left; he doubted Pierre had forgiven him.

Matisse Antoine Delacourt, also known as M.A.D., led a controversial life. His temerity and insidious comments at the National Assembly made him a target. Many people recall the senator boldly confronting the prime minister, the president, and the minister of justice, accusing them of running the country ineffectively, likening them to three blind mice.

Matisse's constant questioning put his party in a difficult position, challenging the very foundations of its principles.

He was the youngest mayor ever elected by the Liberals and the youngest senator ever elected by the Republicans. Changing camps elevated his enemies' ranks. Pierre Lafarge reeled him in toward darker forces. Having power and gaining it became Matisse's only preoccupation.

Pierre had everything planned from the moment the young man joined his party. Matisse was to marry his daughter. A toy soldier, Matisse would have helped him become president. Alexis didn't even figure in the equation. Pierre saw the son he had always wanted in Matisse, but his apprentice refused to follow the corrupt path that Pierre had paved.

Now Severine was on the balance. The ivory tour closed in on her daily, and Matisse doubted the woman knew what she was up against. The isolation in the Assembly was one thing with the opposition, but being blocked by one's camp was worse, and Matisse was well placed to know.

In a few weeks, Severine would be a prisoner of her function. Muted by her party, the president's words would ring like a phone on silent, and all everyone would receive would be missed calls.

It was no secret the National Assembly held France. The true power resided in the hemicycle. When Matisse thought of it, Severine's election was one of a kind in more ways than people could imagine.

She was unaware of the challenges of holding a seat in the Assembly or enduring a lengthy debate that continued until morning. She had never experienced being jeered at or witnessing deputies walk out of the chamber because they believed the discussion was pointless. She also didn't know how it felt to have the opposition dismantle a bill she had spent months, see half a term drafting.

There was also the issue of the people's loyalty. Loyalty meant very little to the French from the instant when taxes didn't crush them, and they didn't feel like the executive branch ignored their concerns.

Yet the public could fixate on trivial matters while allowing the government to escape accountability for serious wrongdoing.

It's not your call, thought Matisse. Pierre wanted to use Matisse because he found it enjoyable. He hoped Matisse would approve of punishing Severine for what he considered a prejudice she had inflicted on him. Pierre wanted Severine to suffer betrayal by someone she admired.

However, Matisse saw a flaw in Pierre's plan. He questioned whether Severine had an ounce of respect Pierre alluded to.

"You are weak."

The woman's words still echoed in the cavities of his body. No, Severine didn't respect him, at least not as a man.

"Jessica, I'm home," Matisse said as he entered his house thirty minutes later.

A rare silence filled the space. Matisse advanced and found a beautifully decorated dining table.

"Surprise," he heard as Jessica slid her hands across his waist to hug him.

Eighteen years.

Matisse chose Jessica over his career, ambitions, passion, and country. Moreover, he picked her overㅡ.

"Happy anniversary," Matisse said and turned to kiss her.

"I tried not to go over the top. I hope you like it."

"I love it," Matisse said as he scanned the candle-lit dining table.

Yes, Matisse chose Jessica, but he wondered if he had made the right choice.

Was she worth such a price?

Something wasn't right; Jessica could sense it. One didn't live with someone for eighteen years without noticing the tiniest quirks of discontent.

"What's the matter, Matisse?" She asked once they finished the entrée.

"Nothing."

"How was your day?"

Matisse frowned for the first time in a while; he couldn't say it was just fine. Pierre's visit was the first in twelve years. Never had the man left France to make an offer in person. Until then, it was about returning to France to either be a fixer, consultant, or even a deputy ㅡbut prime minister.

What did Pierre have that assured him a win?

Matisse's curiosity was piqued.

"The day was long. I couldn't wait for it to end."

"Tell me about it," Jessica said.

His wife made efforts. She finished work early to go to the salon for a hair blowout and a makeup session. Her blond hair shimmered just like her eyes. She was stunning.

One doesn't eat beauty in a salad. Matisse knew this, but he never thought he would be the man blinded to this point. How could someone of his logic be rendered to this?

"Remember when you first met Dad with your wet trousers? That was hilarious."

Matisse remembered going to the bathroom before Jessica's parents arrived at the Marriott restaurant. When he tried to open the tap to wash his hands, the water gushed out and wet his trousers in an unexpected area. As a result, he ended up shaking his future father-in-law's hand with a wet patch around the zipper of his pants, which led to a comment from Jessica's father about not realizing he was so intimidating. There were good, memorable moments, and then there were the rest.

"Pierre Lafarge came to visit me," Matisse said out of the blue.

Jessica put down her fork, "Pierre Lafarge is here, in New York?"

"Yes."

Jessica lifted a brow, "He came just like that to see you?"

"Yes, he just stopped by to say hi."

Was it a coincidence? Jessica wondered.

The elections were still young. Pierre Lafarge was Severine Lafarge's father-in-law.

Could Pierre have come to ask Matisse to help the woman?

Of course, Jessica couldn't guess Pierre and Severine were in opposite camps.

"You must have been happy to see him."

Matisse sketched a smile, "I was. It's been a while."

Jessica wanted to know more but knew it was no use forcing Matisse, who only spoke on his terms.

From that moment on, Jessica was alone. Her husband's mind subscribed to a hiatus.