Chapter 4 - Caught in the Web of the Bellamy Empire
Bianca’s heart hammered against her ribs. She looked up at Tristan, her defensive instincts flaring up in full force.
"I am off the clock, Mr. Bellamy," Bianca said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest as she clutched her canvas bag like a shield. "And if you’re here to demand compensation for my unauthorized nap in your back seat three days ago, I can assure you my hourly wage won't even cover the dry cleaning."
Tristan pushed himself off the side of the vehicle, stepping closer with that same calm, overwhelming aura of absolute control. Up close, in the harsh afternoon sunlight, he was even more striking—broad-shouldered, sharp-featured, with eyes the color of a stormy winter ocean.
"I don't care about the dry cleaning, Miss Carter," Tristan said evenly, his gaze dropping to her tired face. "And I certainly didn't come here to bill you. I came to offer you a ride."
"No, thank you," Bianca shot back immediately, taking a step backward. "I’ll take the subway. Or walk. Or call an Uber—a real Uber, where I actually check the license plate before opening the door."
Tristan’s lips twitched again into that infuriatingly handsome half-smile. "You’ve worked a grueling twelve-hour shift following a twenty-four-hour marathon earlier this week. You’re running on fumes, caffeine, and stubborn pride. Getting into a crowded subway car right now is a fantastic way to pass out on a stranger's shoulder."
"At least the stranger won't be a terrifying mafia boss," Bianca muttered under her breath.
Tristan went completely still. His dark eyes narrowed slightly, a dangerous intelligence flashing behind them. "Who told you that word?"
Bianca froze. She hadn't meant to say it out loud. But living in New York for five years, working ER night shifts where gunshot victims whispered terrifying names in the trauma bays, you learned to recognize the elite predators of the city. The bespoke Italian suits, the silent security detail parked twenty yards away in a black sedan, the untouchable aura—it didn't take a genius to put two and two together.
"I read the financial journals, Mr. Bellamy," Bianca lied smoothly, though her shaky voice betrayed her. "Your name tends to come up whenever massive corporate acquisitions happen... or when underground empires shift."
Tristan didn't confirm or deny the accusation. Instead, he reached out, and with a swift, gentle precision that completely caught her off guard, he took her elbow and guided her toward the rear door of the SUV. It wasn't rough; it was an immovable, irresistible force.
"Get in, Bianca," he commanded softly, using her first name for the very first time. It rolled off his tongue like a velvet threat. "Your shift is over. Let me take care of you for ten minutes."
Exhaustion, combined with an inexplicable, terrifying pull she couldn't explain, sapped the last of Bianca’s resistance. She allowed him to guide her into the back seat. This time, he climbed in right beside her, closing the heavy door and sealing them off from the chaotic New York traffic outside.
As the SUV glided silently into the stream of traffic, Tristan turned slightly toward her.
"My mother likes you," Tristan noted casually. "In the last three years, she hasn't smiled once when a nurse walked into her room. Today, she laughed twice."
"Your mother is a sweetheart," Bianca replied quietly, staring straight ahead at the tinted glass partition separating them from the driver. "She doesn't deserve to be cooped up in that hospital."
"She’s recovering well because of your care," Tristan said. He paused, his deep voice dropping a fraction of an octave. "Which brings me to why I’m here. My mother requires around-the-clock specialized physical therapy and nursing monitoring for the next month following her discharge. I want you to be her private, live-in nurse at my estate."
Bianca whipped her head around, her jaw dropping. "What?! Absolutely not! I have a full-time job at St. Catherine’s, an apartment in Queens, and a life!"
"I’ve already spoken to the hospital board," Tristan interrupted smoothly, completely unfazed by her outburst. "They’ve granted you a one-month paid sabbatical, effective tomorrow. Your apartment lease in Queens has been bought out, and your belongings are currently being transferred to a secure guest wing at my residence."
Bianca stared at him as if he had grown a second head. Rage and disbelief bubbled up in her chest, boiling over her exhaustion.
"You did what?!" she hissed, her hands balling into fists. "You had my apartment cleared out without my permission?! That is completely illegal! That’s kidnapping by proxy! You can't just uproot people's lives because you're used to buying everything in sight!"
Tristan didn't flinch, nor did he look apologetic. He simply leaned back against the plush leather, watching her fiery outburst with a look of profound, captivated fascination.
May you like
"In my world, Bianca, I don't ask for permission when I see something I want to protect," Tristan said softly, his dark eyes burning into hers. "And after watching you fall asleep on my shoulder three days ago, I decided very quickly that you aren't going anywhere."
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