CHAPTER 6: YOU REMIND ME OF HER

AUTHOR'S PERSPECTIVE

Lara remained hidden in a corner of the hallway, watching Tristan storm out of the old lady's suite, his jaw clenched with fury; meanwhile, her own heart pounded hard against her ribs.

"If Tristan suspected it was Emilia, then something was definitely wrong."

Although Dr. Winston bore a chilling resemblance to Emilia, Lara was certain that the latter had been dead for years. While she herself couldn't confirm it, the Ashfords had done so five years earlier, and they couldn't have been wrong.

"Is it possible that Tristan was still thinking about Emilia? But it's been five years, and besides, he never liked her; so why would he suddenly care about a dead person? Is that why he barely paid attention to me?" Lara thought aloud as she anxiously bit her fingers.

A shadow crossed her face as an idea suddenly occurred to her. There was no way that person could have made a mistake. She spun around and frantically dialed a number she'd long forgotten on her phone.

EMILIA'S PERSPECTIVE

A week passed as I sifted through medical records and lab results; by then, I had thoroughly studied and analyzed Vivian's medical history and begun my investigation. I knew where the problem lay, and it seemed I would soon have to perform a high-risk open-heart reconstruction. Although it was a very risky procedure given her age—and most surgeons wouldn't dare touch her—I had complete confidence in my skills and my team.

But the real problem was telling Tristan about the surgery plan. I hadn't seen him in the last few days. While that peace of mind was welcome, it kept me on edge, wondering if I might run into him by chance—something I honestly didn't want at all.

As usual, I left my team in charge of watching over the elderly woman—they took turns—so I knew she was in good hands. I went out to the main driveway of the Blackwell estate, looking to hail a taxi back to my hotel. Before I could take five steps, a Rolls-Royce pulled up right in front of me;

Luke got out of the passenger seat and opened the back door, indicating that I should get in.

"Dr. Winston, President Blackwell wants to speak with you." My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to think of a hundred reasons why Tristan would want to see me.

I glanced toward the dimly lit back seat and saw him reclining, engrossed in his tablet—probably reviewing some file or report—and the thought of being in an enclosed space with him again terrified me, but I had to steel myself so he wouldn't suspect anything.

I swallowed hard and got into the car. "President Blackwell," I said by way of greeting, but he only gave a slight, dismissive nod, without taking his eyes off the tablet or saying a word; which was odd, since Luke had said he wanted to talk to me.

I heard the engine roar to life and the car start moving down the driveway; my hands clenched into tight fists, terrified. Where were they taking me?

As if sensing my unease, Luke clarified, “We’ll take you to your hotel, Dr. Winston. President Blackwell thought it best to discuss the treatment plan on the way.” I sighed with relief at the thought of him taking me to the hotel, but I remained alert. After all, we were talking about Tristan.

A soft click echoed in the car as Tristan pressed a button. The leather partition rose, isolating us from Luke and the driver. The air in the back became stifling, and my palms began to sweat.

“Relax!” I heard him say, and I immediately turned my head toward him. “You’re tense only because you’re keeping so many secrets… isn’t that right, Dr. Emilia Winston?” My pulse raced so violently I could feel it in my throat. I had consulted my international files.

“I prefer to be addressed simply as Dr. Winston,” I said, my voice calm and icy. Back then, when I had just made myself known to the public in Saint City, the media scrutinized my life relentlessly; however, there was very little information I could reveal, given my past and the fact that those who knew me believed me to be dead. Therefore, I went by the name “Dr. Winston,” and any other details remained hidden from the public thanks to the help of my mentor and savior, Dr. Alexander Winston. Nevertheless, Tristan had discovered my first name—something only my mentor knew—so who knows what else he might have learned.

She'd have to be careful with Tristan from now on.

"Is it a coincidence that you have the same name as my late wife?" He turned off his tablet and faced me. His hazel eyes locked onto mine like a predator's.

—Isn't it intentional that you always mention your late wife when you're with me?

—You remind me of her; I can't help it.

"I will only tolerate a professional relationship between us, President Blackwell. I find it offensive that you always compare me to her."

"I'll wait until you can no longer keep up this charade, Emilia. Until then, enjoy it while it lasts." Tristan let out a deep, dark laugh that sent a shiver down my spine.

—I can't wait to prove you wrong, President Blackwell.

"You should know by now," he whispered, moving so close I could smell the intense woodsmoke scent of his cologne. "Nothing stays hidden from me for long. When I finally find out, you'll regret ever daring to lie to me."

Yes, I was fully aware of his capabilities and how ruthless he could be. How could I forget the very reason I'd gotten myself into this mess? I knew what I was risking by returning to this city, and now I just wanted it all to be over as quickly as possible so I could be with my children.

Speaking of my children, it was about time they left daycare and were on their way back with the nanny I'd hired for them. I hoped they were already in the suite; I couldn't allow Tristan to run into them. That would complicate things.

The car stopped in front of the entrance of the hotel where I was staying.

"Do the Blackwells own several five-star resorts in Axel City? Why stay here?" I had deliberately decided not to stay in a hotel owned by the Blackwells or the Ashfords, knowing that Tristan would surely have people watching me, and that was something I couldn't allow.

—I don't accept favors from my patients. Only payments.

"Whatever you want." I hurriedly got out of the car, eager to put some distance between us; to my surprise, Tristan got out too, buttoning up his suit jacket.

—President Blackwell, do you need to escort me inside? —I glanced discreetly around to make sure no one was nearby.

"You think very highly of yourself. I have a private meeting here." That seemed rather suspicious, but I had no choice but to believe it; it wasn't like him to go to hotels for business after what had happened last time. I suppose something had changed.

"Mommy!" I opened my eyes wide when I heard that familiar voice.