Chapter 2 - THE BILLIONAIRE WHO COULDN'T BUY AN ANSWER
I had never seen a man change so quickly.
One moment Tristan Bellamy was a confident billionaire teasing me about a ridiculous mistake.
The next, he was a frightened son watching his mother lose consciousness.
“Eleanor?” he said.
I moved toward the head of the bed.
“Mr. Bellamy, give us room.”
He didn't move.
“What's happening?”
“Please.”
Something in my voice reached him.
He stepped aside.
Within seconds, the rapid-response team arrived.
Dr. Samuel Ortiz took charge while I reported Eleanor's symptoms and vital signs.
Her oxygen level had dropped.
Her heart rate was elevated.
And she was struggling to breathe.
Because she'd recently undergone hip surgery, the team considered several urgent possibilities, including a blood clot in her lungs.
We stabilized her and arranged emergency imaging.
Tristan followed us into the corridor.
“Is she dying?”
I looked at him.
I could have offered comforting words.
I could have said she would be fine.
But I had spent enough years in hospitals to know that false reassurance could be cruel.
“We're treating this as an emergency,” I told him. “The doctors are working to find the cause.”
His jaw tightened.
“That's not an answer.”
“It's the most accurate answer I have.”
He stared at me.
Then nodded.
The scan confirmed a pulmonary embolism.
A blood clot had traveled to Eleanor's lungs.
The medical team began appropriate treatment and moved her to a higher level of monitoring.
For several hours, Tristan sat in the waiting area without speaking.
His phone rang repeatedly.
He ignored it.
An assistant arrived carrying documents.
He sent her away.
A business partner demanded an urgent conference call.
Tristan ended the call before the man finished speaking.
I saw him through the glass doors during my break.
He sat alone, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
For the first time, he didn't look like a billionaire.
He looked like a little boy afraid of losing his mother.
I approached.
“Mr. Bellamy?”
He stood immediately.
“How is she?”
“She's responding to treatment. Dr. Ortiz will explain the next steps.”
His shoulders lowered slightly.
“Thank you.”
I nodded.
Then turned to leave.
“Bianca.”
I stopped.
He looked uncomfortable.
“About the other night.”
I sighed.
“Please don't.”
He almost smiled.
“I wanted to apologize.”
That surprised me.
“For what?”
“My driver should have confirmed your identity before leaving the hospital.”
I blinked.
“Mr. Bellamy, I climbed into your car.”
“Yes.”
“And fell asleep.”
“Yes.”
“And then ran away.”
His mouth twitched.
“That part was memorable.”
I covered my face.
He laughed softly.
It was the first time I'd heard him laugh.
And I hated how much I liked the sound.
Later that evening, Eleanor was awake.
Tristan stood beside her bed, holding her hand.
I entered to check her observations.
She smiled weakly.
“Bianca.”
“Hello, troublemaker.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow.
His mother grinned.
“See? She likes me.”
I adjusted the monitor.
“You gave us a scare.”
Eleanor looked toward her son.
“He's been worried.”
“I noticed.”
Tristan cleared his throat.
His mother squeezed his hand.
“Sweetheart, you should eat something.”
“I'm fine.”
“You've been saying that since you were eight.”
I smiled.
Eleanor looked at me.
“Would you tell him?”
“Tell him what?”
“That coffee isn't dinner.”
I glanced at Tristan.
“She's right.”
He looked at me.
“Are you taking her side?”
“Professionally.”
Eleanor laughed.
Then she said something that made both of us freeze.
“Bianca, when I'm discharged, you should come to dinner.”
Tristan looked at her.
“Mother.”
“What?”
I smiled awkwardly.
“That's very kind, but—”
“Nonsense. I insist.”
Tristan looked at me.
For one brief moment, the room felt strangely quiet.
Then he said:
May you like
“Only if Bianca wants to.”
And for reasons I couldn't explain, that answer made my heart beat faster.
