Chapter 5: Becoming Rachel

When I opened my eyes again, I sat up abruptly, clutching my neck.

The air was crisp, the kind of cool you only get before sunrise in D.C. After gasping for breath, I realized all my old ailments were gone, even the suffocation from being strangled had vanished.

My hands were fair and slender, free of calluses and frostbite.

I flexed my fingers, marveling at the smoothness of my skin. My shoulders and neck were nimble and light, no longer aching or dizzy, no more creaking with every movement.

My knees—after years of kneeling on marble floors—no longer hurt.

I let out a shaky laugh, half relief, half disbelief. I lifted the soft quilt and ran to the vanity. The mirror reflected the face of Rachel.

The gold-trimmed mirror showed a woman with perfect features, blue eyes wide with shock. "Ma’am, did you have a nightmare? I’ll have Frank fetch some chamomile tea from the kitchen."

Peach, who should have been gone, appeared, helping me back onto the couch, her face anxious.

Her hands were cool against my arm. "Let’s get you settled, ma’am. Breathe. It’s all right."

I really had switched with Rachel.

And I’d returned to five years ago, when Rachel had just entered the White House.

At first, the realization terrified me.

Such a bizarre, supernatural thing had actually happened to me.

Rachel was beautiful, but lacked depth or cunning.

She was flamboyant, loved to laugh, and never hid her likes or dislikes—she lost her temper regardless of time or place.

She’d say to Deborah, who’d been childless for years, that she was too old, and even if she got pregnant, shouldn’t give birth.

She called Penny a manipulator and made her scrub floors or slapped her at every meeting.

Even when facing the powerful senator’s daughter, she never backed down, boldly declaring she was the President’s true love and the others were just tools.

If anyone tried to advise her, she didn’t care.

"Life and death are nothing. If you disagree, fight me. Don’t be afraid—they can’t touch me."

And indeed, no one could touch her.

I lived every day as if walking on thin ice, treating the White House as a fortress, spending all my savings to buy information.

First, I had to guard against Deborah’s schemes. She came from a political family, with many sisters in her circle, trained in intrigue from childhood.

I had to suppress Penny, who outwardly submitted but secretly hated Rachel. If she gained favor and resources, she’d strike without mercy.

There was also Wendy, Sharon…

The list of rivals never seemed to end. But I was just a little White House maid. No matter how hard I worked, racking my brains, before power and wealth I was like an ant trying to shake a tree.

I watched helplessly as they schemed and plotted again and again.

After each episode, a few more staff would be lost from the East Wing, either fired or gone for good.

They were loyal, like soldiers on a battlefield, standing up one after another, charging ahead for Rachel without hesitation.

At those times, Rachel would pat my shoulder, a little proudly.

She’d smile, half-proud, half-sad. "Don’t worry, no one remembers the extras. I remember. Every little staff member who left for me, I remember them all."

Thinking of this, a rebellious, treasonous thought rose in my mind, word by word:

Why can’t I be the First Lady?

She, Rachel, is not worthy.

Now, I am her.

The realization settled over me, electric and terrifying.