Chapter 5: The Governor’s Mistress

Madison hated being called a girlfriend more than anything.

In Savannah, everyone gossiped about Madison’s pride—how she walked through the streets as if she owned the town, never once letting the word 'girlfriend' pass her lips.

She was an orphan, with no parents, brought back from a disaster by Andrew.*

People remembered the flood that swept through the Delta, how Andrew, the governor’s younger brother, carried her out in his own arms. Since then, their fates were tied together, for better or worse.

They had lived and died together, saved each other’s lives; their feelings ran as deep as life itself.

It was the kind of story folks retold over poker games and church potlucks—how they’d survived on nothing but grit and each other’s company.

But Andrew already had a wife at home, married by his parents’ order.

His wife, Eleanor, was the picture of old Southern respectability—pearls, garden parties, and a smile that never quite reached her eyes.

This wife came from a prominent family. Even if Andrew had little affection for her, he could never dismiss or demote her.

The Hendersons had built half the city. Andrew’s hands were tied, no matter how much he might have loved Madison.

So the only status left for Madison was that of girlfriend.

And everyone in town made sure she never forgot it, whispering behind lace curtains and over the rims of coffee cups.

But she would not accept it.

“Andy, you and I went through hell together, swore to be together for life, with the Georgia pines as witness! Now you want me to be just your girlfriend? No way!”

Her voice would ring out in the mansion’s halls, sharp enough to carry down to the street. Even the housekeeper shook her head, muttering, “That girl’s got more fight than sense.”

She would rather stay by Andrew’s side without a title, telling him, “I don’t care what the world thinks of me, as long as you treat me as your only wife.”

She wore her defiance like a badge, never lowering her chin or softening her words.

Andrew was both moved and guilt-ridden.

He’d stare out the window, fingers drumming on the glass, wishing he could give her more—knowing he never would.

Moved by Madison’s devotion, guilty because he had indeed hidden the fact that he already had a wife.

He’d tried to shield her from gossip, but Savannah’s grapevine was relentless. The truth always found its way to the surface.

He could only treat her even better.

If Madison said she wanted river delicacies, Andrew would immediately send people south for fresh fish and shrimp, rushing back day and night.

There was no indulgence too costly. The kitchen was always stocked with her favorites, flown in on ice from Florida and Louisiana.

If she had a headache or fever, Andrew would skip work to stay home and care for her.

He’d sit at her bedside, holding a cool washcloth to her brow, reading her the funnies from the Sunday paper.

As for her, roasting an innocent local alive in public because she was in a bad mood—for Andrew, it was a headache, but not a big deal.

He dismissed it like a busted pipe or an overdue tax bill—something unfortunate, but easily smoothed over.

He only sighed, “Enough. Madison cares most about her status, and it’s just that outsider who didn’t know how to speak.”

He said it to his chief of staff, voice low but weary, as if that explained everything.

“Since no one died, just have the manager pay more for his medical treatment.”

The order was given with a wave of his hand, as if money could heal burnt flesh or broken hearts.