Page 77 of Detectives in Love

Foreign Minister denies impropriety, blames rumors on “political noise.”

Foreign Minister William Craig announced the resignation of his advisor, 25-year-old Christopher Hill, on Monday, calling it “a necessary step to quell distraction.”

The move follows weeks of speculation after photos surfaced showing the two men together at a Shorewitch hotel—images first published byThe Chronicle(Issue 23).

Craig, 49, confirmed that he and Hill had shared accommodations during campaign travel, but flatly denied any “unprofessional conduct.”

In a rare public statement on his personal life, Craig added: “My wife Fiona and I have been trying for a baby. It’s been a long road—years of effort and several miscarriages. We’ve had our share of heartbreak, but we’re solid. We’ll get through this together.”

When pressed about the nature of his relationship with Hill, Craig described the rumors as “baseless gossip designed to distract from real policy.”

However, critics remain skeptical. The opposition has called for a formal inquiry into Hill’s appointment, while anonymous sources within the party describe the resignation as “damage control.”

The Chronicle’s editorial board has stood by its coverage, stating that “the public has a right to transparency where taxpayer funds and potential conflicts of interest are concerned.”

Meanwhile, Christopher Hill has declined to comment.

I sigh again, flipping through the rest of the paper. Why does everything have to circle back to sex? Sure, the minister and his advisor are public figures—and if they really were involved, it could raise questions about professionalism, maybe even nepotism. But instead of tackling that, the press has been dragging their private lives through the mud for weeks, just to prove whether they’re sleeping together. That’s the part that feels dirty.

A pang of sympathy twists in my chest. Rumors like these don’t just stain reputations—they can wreck lives. Poor bastards.

When the waitress brings my coffee, I thank her and dive back into the paper. Page five holds another surprise—an article titledDetectives in Love. There’s a photo of me gripping Xavier’s wrist as we leave the Shorewitch Police Station, reporters swarming around us.

A sharp pang cuts through me at the sight. God, thinking about him actually hurts.

I skim the article. It talks about some website—apparently also calledDetectives in Love—filled with made-up stories about us as a couple. I don’t bother reading further. Itstill stings. Especially after the way he humiliated me. Like he knows exactly how I feel—and thinks it’s pathetic.

I fold the paper and toss it back onto the windowsill, suddenly wishing I could hop on the next train out of Shorewitch and disappear.

Thankfully, Katie shows up fifteen minutes early, sparing me from stewing in my own misery for too long. She walks in with her beige coat, matching scarf, and hat all dusted with snow. Underneath, she’s wearing a white linen dress.

And just for a moment, I remember how head over heels I was for her in high school. The kind of soft, uncomplicated love that felt huge at the time. But even at its peak, it could never compare to what I feel for Xavier now.

Not that I should be thinking about him—not right now. Because the second I do, our fight flashes back, and the nausea creeps in all over again.

She spots me and makes her way over.

“Hi,” she says with a smile.

“Hey.” I stand to hug her.

She settles into the seat beside me, brushing snow from her coat. “Have you been waiting long?”

“No, I just got here a little early.” I wave the waitress over. We both seem awkward—ordering gives us something to do while we ease into the moment. Once the waitress leaves, Katie shifts slightly closer.

“So, how’ve you been?”

“Great.” I smile. “Working at the detective agency. Helping the police when I can.”

Katie nods. “Right, the agency. With Xavier Ormond.”

“Yeah,” I say, not eager to go there. A pause lingers, so I fill it. “I see you’re not wearing a ring.”

Katie smiles. “Because I’m not married.”

“What about Joe Gargery?” I ask, pretending to sound curious. “I always thought you two would end up together.”

I honestly couldn’t care less—but I need to keep her talking, anything to steer the conversation away from Xavier.