After a brutal 24-hour hospital shift, I climbed into the wrong black SUV, fell asleep beside a complete stranger, and woke to find the most intimidating man I had ever seen watching me. Three days later, I walked into a patient’s room—and nearly dropped her chart when that same man stepped through the door.

Six months later, the cherry blossoms were in full bloom in Central Park.

Bianca had returned to St. Catherine’s Medical Center, but her life had changed dramatically. She was no longer working brutal twenty-four-hour shifts. With Tristan’s quiet, anonymous donation to the hospital, they had hired three new nurses for her department, drastically reducing the workload and improving patient care.

Bianca was also preparing to start her graduate studies to become a pediatric nurse practitioner, her tuition fully funded by a scholarship program she didn't know Tristan had secretly established in her father's name.

She walked out of the hospital entrance on a beautiful, sunny afternoon. The air was warm, filled with the scent of spring flowers.

A sleek, black SUV pulled up to the curb.

Dominic stepped out of the passenger side, wearing a sharp suit and a bright smile. "Good afternoon, Miss Mendes. Your ride is here."

Bianca laughed, walking down the steps. "Dominic, you know I can take the subway now."

"Mr. Bellamy was very specific, Miss Mendes," Dominic joked. "He said if you take the subway, he will buy the subway line and shut it down for private use."

"He is still dramatic, I see," Bianca smiled, climbing into the back seat.

This time, Tristan was waiting for her.

He looked devastatingly handsome in a light gray tailored suit, his dark hair styled perfectly, but his eyes held that same, familiar warmth whenever they landed on her. He reached out, pulling her into his arms and kissing her deeply the moment the door closed.

"How was your shift?" he asked, his hand resting on her cheek.

"Perfect," she smiled. "And yours?"

"Boring without you," he murmured. "But I have a surprise for you."

The car drove through the city, eventually pulling up to a beautiful, historic brownstone in Greenwich Village. The building was stunning, with a small, private garden in the front and large windows that let in the warm spring sunlight.

Tristan led her up the steps and opened the heavy wooden door.

The interior was magnificent, filled with exposed brick, warm wooden floors, and a beautiful, modern kitchen. It was elegant, spacious, and felt incredibly cozy.

"Do you like it?" Tristan asked, standing behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder.

"It’s beautiful, Tristan," Bianca said, looking around in awe. "Whose house is this?"

"Ours," Tristan whispered.

Bianca froze, turning in his arms to look at him. "Ours?"

"I bought it for us," Tristan said, his dark eyes filled with a quiet, nervous hope. "I know my penthouse is spectacular, but it’s a bachelor pad. It’s cold. This... this is a home. A place where we can build a life. A place where our children can run around the garden. If you'll have me, Bianca."