Chapter 5 - When the Headlines Found Us
I stared at Eleanor.
"What did you say?"
She remained completely calm.
"Somebody sent Tristan a photograph of you before you met."
My pulse thudded inside my ears.
"That's impossible."
"I wish it were."
"Why would anyone have a photograph of me?"
"That is what Tristan has been trying to determine."
I stepped backward.
"He knew who I was when I entered his SUV?"
"No."
"Then explain."
"The photograph wasn't clear."
Eleanor folded both hands over her cane.
"It was taken outside St. Catherine's. You were in the background."
"Background of what?"
"A Bellamy board member."
My mind raced.
Eleanor continued.
"Several weeks before my surgery, one of Tristan's executives visited the hospital. Someone sent Tristan surveillance photos suggesting the executive was meeting privately with hospital administrators."
"Why?"
"There was an acquisition under consideration."
St. Catherine's had recently discussed partnering with a private medical technology firm.
I knew almost nothing about it.
"You were simply standing near the entrance in one picture," Eleanor said. "Tristan didn't know your name."
"Then why didn't he tell me?"
"Because he didn't connect you with the photograph until after your second date."
That didn't help.
"He recognized me eventually."
"Yes."
"And said nothing."
"Yes."
Anger rose.
I grabbed my phone.
"I'm calling him."
Eleanor lifted one hand.
"Do."
Tristan answered immediately.
"Bianca?"
"Did you have a photograph of me before we met?"
Silence.
That was becoming a pattern I hated.
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
"Come to St. Catherine's."
"I'm downtown."
"Now."
"I'm coming."
He arrived thirty minutes later.
I was waiting on the hospital's rooftop garden.
Wind moved across Manhattan.
Tristan approached slowly.
"You talked to my mother."
"Obviously."
"She promised she wouldn't interfere."
"Your mother doesn't understand promises."
"No."
Despite my anger, the shared truth almost made me smile.
Almost.
"Tell me everything."
He did.
No omissions this time.
Bellamy Holdings had been investigating suspected corporate espionage tied to Victor Hale.
A confidential proposal involving hospital diagnostic technology had leaked.
Private investigators photographed several executives believed to be involved.
I had appeared accidentally in one image.
"There was no reason to identify you," Tristan said.
"Until we met."
"Correct."
"When did you realize?"
"After dinner."
"How?"
"I reviewed the investigation files."
"Why were you reviewing them after our date?"
"Because something about you seemed familiar."
That sounded worse than he intended.
"So you investigated me."
"No."
"You looked through surveillance photographs to identify me."
"Yes."
"Tristan."
"I know."
I walked toward the railing.
He stayed back.
Good decision.
"Did you search anything else?"
"No."
"Did your people?"
"Basic security verification."
I spun around.
"What does that mean?"
"Public information. Employment. Criminal history."
"You ran a background check on me?"
"My security team runs one on anyone who becomes personally close to me."
"I didn't consent."
"No."
"Did it occur to you that's insane?"
"Frequently."
I stared at him.
He didn't defend himself.
That somehow made it harder to remain furious.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I knew exactly how it would sound."
"Like you're a controlling billionaire who investigated the woman he was dating?"
"Precisely."
"And you thought hiding it was better?"
"No."
He paused.
"I thought cowardice was easier."
That answer caught me off guard.
Tristan Bellamy rarely described himself harshly.
"Why are these people targeting me?"
"Because someone believes the hospital partnership matters to me."
"It doesn't?"
"The deal doesn't."
His eyes met mine.
"You do."
I looked away.
"Stop doing that."
"What?"
"Saying things that make it difficult to stay angry."
"I'm not trying to."
"You are terrible at arguments."
"So I've been told."
The wind moved my hair across my face.
Tristan stepped closer but didn't touch me.
"I should have told you."
"Yes."
"I was afraid you'd walk away."
"I did anyway."
"I know."
That hurt both of us.
Before I could answer, the rooftop door burst open.
Natalie stepped outside holding her phone.
"Bianca."
Her expression made my stomach drop.
"What?"
"You need to see this."
A major financial news site had published an article minutes earlier.
The headline was brutal.
BELLAMY BILLIONAIRE'S SECRET HOSPITAL ROMANCE RAISES QUESTIONS OVER MULTIMILLION-DOLLAR DEAL
Beneath it was a photograph of Tristan and me kissing outside my apartment.
Another article followed within minutes.
Then another.
By noon, reporters stood outside St. Catherine's.
By one, my name was trending online.
By three, hospital administration placed me on temporary paid leave pending a conflict-of-interest review.
I walked out of the conference room numb.
Tristan was waiting.
"I'll release a statement."
"No."
"Bianca—"
"No."
"They're lying."
"If you defend me publicly, they'll say you're using your influence."
His jaw tightened.
"So I do nothing?"
"You let the hospital investigate."
"And while they drag your name through newspapers?"
"I've spent twelve years building my career. My records will speak for me."
He looked at me with an expression I couldn't read.
Pride.
Fear.
Frustration.
Maybe all three.
The following week was miserable.
Reporters camped outside my apartment.
My mother received calls.
Natalie started entering our building through the service door.
The internet decided I was either a gold digger, a victim, a brilliant social climber, or the future Mrs. Bellamy.
No version included me.
Just Bianca the headline.
Bianca the photograph.
Bianca the rumor.
Tristan kept his distance publicly.
Privately, he sent one text each evening.
Are you okay?
I answered honestly.
No.
He never demanded more.
On the sixth day of my leave, someone slipped an envelope beneath my apartment door.
Inside was a flash drive.
No note.
I called hospital security.
Then Tristan.
We opened it inside a secure conference room.
The drive contained dozens of financial documents.
Payments.
Emails.
Contract drafts.
A name appeared repeatedly.
Victor Hale.
But another name shocked me more.
Dr. Samuel Pierce.
St. Catherine's chief financial officer.
The same administrator involved in the Bellamy partnership.
The documents suggested Pierce had been secretly selling confidential hospital information to Hale.
Tristan looked at me.
"This is what they've been hiding."
"Why send it to me?"
"Because somebody wants us to expose them."
"Or walk into a trap."
He nodded.
"Both are possible."
We contacted federal investigators.
Within twenty-four hours, they confirmed portions of the documents were authentic.
Dr. Pierce was placed on administrative leave.
Victor Hale denied everything.
The hospital investigation cleared me completely.
My medical records showed no preferential treatment toward Eleanor.
No financial connection to Bellamy Holdings.
No professional misconduct.
I returned to St. Catherine's under a swarm of cameras.
For the first time, I didn't hide.
I walked through the front entrance in my white coat.
Head high.
That afternoon, Tristan waited across the street.
He didn't approach.
He understood.
I crossed the road myself.
When I reached him, he said nothing.
Neither did I.
I simply wrapped my arms around him.
For one second he remained frozen.
Then his arms closed around me.
Cameras clicked behind us.
I didn't care anymore.
"I missed you," he whispered.
"I know."
"That's all I get?"
"I missed you too."
His face disappeared briefly against my hair.
Then I whispered, "We're still complicated."
"I can live with complicated."
"So can I."
We thought exposing the documents had ended the danger.
We were wrong.
Two nights later, Tristan received a call from an unknown number.
A distorted voice spoke only one sentence.
"Drop the Hale investigation or the doctor won't make it through another night shift."
Tristan immediately called me.
I was already inside the hospital.
But someone else was there too.
May you like
And by the time Tristan reached St. Catherine's, every alarm on the eighth floor was screaming.
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