At long last, Alicia Florrick had made it to the top. After so many years of sacrifices and dedication to her husband's political career, here she was – the First Lady of the United States. Like Eleanor Roosevelt and Hillary Clinton, she could make a difference. And yet, two years into Peter's first term, in the luxury of the huge White House, she had never felt more like a prisoner.

White House Interngate – Monicagate redux? Did President Sleep with White House Intern? Read full story. Exclusive revelations inside! The headlines kept popping into Alicia's mind uninvited, along with pictures of the perky twenty-something whose allegations had brought all the reporters in the country and beyond to the President's doorstep in Washington. There were no compromising pictures of Peter with the young woman though – no proof – it was the President's word against hers. But just a few weeks before mid-term elections, the scandal had exploded and reached the President's inner circle like a shock wave. The media frenzy was terrifying. Did First Lady Know? Should she file for divorce? Two really good questions indeed.

Did Alicia know? It had never registered in her conscious mind, but now that this story was all out, she realized that on some subconscious level, she knew. Peter and she had been in love once in Georgetown, and then been tender and caring spouses. But the higher they rose as a power couple, the more they drifted apart, as if the constant need of maintaining a perfect public image had snuffed any real desire remaining between them after twenty-five years of marriage. Alicia supported Peter, stood in his shadow, helped him write his speeches, advocated bold social policies like her illustrious democratic eldest, but didn't sleep with her husband anymore, and didn't really care.

At fifty, Alicia was hardly ever considering having a sex life again – she was too busy with protocol, and official visits, and charities, and the general lack of privacy in her life under the constant scrutiny of the public eye. As for Peter… Surely, there had to be some other women. She didn't even want to know. But of course, these things couldn't stay hidden forever. How could Peter have been so careless, after working so hard to get where he was? And had he really slept with that intern, barely as old as their own daughter Grace?

Alicia felt like throwing up. Should she file for divorce? All the feminists in the country and beyond were clamouring that a woman with any self-respect should pack her things and leave now. Well, technically she had been sleeping in her own bedroom for years, so there was that. And how could any of these outraged feminists ever have any idea of what she had given up to get to this point? Fuck them, Alicia thought. Fuck Peter and his whores. I won't be sent back to square one at this point in my life by mere rumors.

Meanwhile, it was the mid-term election campaign and the GOP candidates were having the time of their lives. Peter would never be able to pass the slightest reform for the next two years if he was to lose his majority in Congress. And Alicia would never be able to show her face in public again if Peter didn't clear his name first. Unless she embraced the role of the outraged wife and filed for divorce?

So far, Alicia was bearing the brunt of humiliation in the media, doing her best to offer a stern but untroubled (if silent) face to the cameras and mics waiting to devour her as soon as she appeared in public. She was trying to make hers the British royal motto "never complain, never explain" – but of course this was America. People loved to blame their President's alleged lack of morals almost as much as they loved to analyze it at length – every single TV or radio show, newspaper or magazine issue had experts commenting on the President's sex life, possible lies, and now questionable ability to rule the most powerful country in the Western world. Was such a man to be trusted ever again?

Another good question, Alicia thought. Peter denied everything, but in spite of the lack of conclusive evidence, he had failed so far to convince his own wife that he was not guilty. Alicia was not positive about that girl – she hoped he hadn't sunk so low – but she had little doubt there were others. She was mad at him all right – for getting caught and now threatening her end of their political partnership.

With the White House under a media siege, Peter had hired Eli Gold, an emergency crisis manager, to perform the best damage control money and influence could buy. Nobody in the President's inner circle could as much as breathe without being pre-approved by Gold. The White House junior staff members were under review for possible liabilities, and the secret services had thought it best to renew the presidential family's security detail.

Alicia didn't care much for her former bodyguard Mike. He was a big, broad-shouldered, all but mute man in a black suit with an earpiece, who did his best to melt into the setting in spite of being quite massive and practically not letting her go to the bathroom on her own – just doing his job. Two years into the Presidency, and Alicia still knew nothing about Mike. Although she was kind of used to always having his broad silhouette around, it was unlikely she would miss him. But she didn't like unnecessary changes – it was a tiring life, constantly having to adapt to new places, new people, new crises. She vaguely expected some clone of the previous bodyguard to become her new shadow. Not that she really cared.

As it turned out, Alicia was only right about the "all but mute" part. The security agent who walked into the Yellow Oval Room to meet her was a strikingly attractive, rather short Indian woman. Except for her carefully inexpressive face, she was nothing like Alicia expected. Her name was Kalinda Sharma.

Author's note: English is not my native language, sorry if there are some mistakes left! Hopefully nothing that will keep you from enjoying my take on what Kalinda truly deserved! I miss you K.