THE BILLIONAIRE OF NOB HILL

CHAPTER 10: THE RUMOUR

Elena had been Mrs. Croft for 72 hours and she already wanted to quit.

Not because of the mansion. The mansion was fine - if you like living inside a museum where even the maids whisper and Margaret the housekeeper checks if you ate enough and the chandelier in the dining room costs more than your entire nursing school tuition.

Not because of Julian. Julian had kept to his side of the deal. He didn't touch her. He barely looked at her after 8pm. He slept in the west wing. She slept in the east wing. Twelve doors, a long hallway, and a lifetime between them. In the morning he left a coffee outside her door, black, no sugar, exactly how she likes it. She never asked how he knew.

It was because of the city.

San Francisco had decided Elena Reyes was a gold digger. A trap. A pregnant nurse who saw a billionaire and spread her legs for a trust fund.

It started with the Chronicle article at 6:04 AM on Monday: "NOB HILL'S MOST ELIGIBLE BILLIONAIRE MARRIES IN SECRET - Who is Elena Reyes?" The article had a photo of her from her old staff ID, hair messy, no makeup, eyes tired after a 12-hour shift.

By 9am, it was on SF Gate. By 10am, it was on SFGATE's i********: with 40k likes. By noon, it was on t****k. A girl who used to be in her nursing class - Jasmine, who failed and dropped out - posted a video crying: "OMG I went to school with her! She was always looking for a rich husband! She told me she would marry rich! This is so crazy!"

Jasmine was lying. Elena had never said that. But 200,000 people watched Jasmine's video.

By 2pm, her personal i********: which had 212 followers - mostly cousins from Manila, her mother, and two friends from church - had 12,000 comments and 800 DMs. Some were nice. Most were not.

"She trapped him with a baby. Classic Filipina move."

"Of course she is pregnant. 90 day fiance irl."

"Another nurse marrying her patient. So original. Gold digger level 1000."

"That baby will be ugly but rich lol."

She was scrubbing her hands raw in the staff bathroom at SF General, third floor, the one nobody uses because the light flickers, when Dr. Patel knocked softly. Dr. Patel was the only one who had been kind to her since she came back.

"Elena, you okay? You have been in there for 15 minutes. Your patient in 302 is asking for you."

"The board wants to see you," she said, trying to hide her red eyes. "They sent an email."

The board. Three men in suits who had never spoken to her before in two years of working in the ER, lifting patients, cleaning vomit, holding hands of people dying alone. Now they wanted to see her.

"Mrs. Croft," the oldest one started, and Elena hated how that name sounded in his mouth, like it was stolen. "We have received... concerns. From donors. And from patients' families."

"Concerns about what?" Elena asked, even though she knew.

"About your... personal situation. Patients are asking if your condition will affect your duties. If you will need... special treatment. Extra breaks. And we have a policy about relationships with major donors."

Condition. Special treatment. Relationships.

They were looking at her belly. She was only 11 weeks and 3 days, barely showing, just a small hardness if you press. But suddenly everyone could see. Everyone knew.

"My personal situation is that I am a qualified RN with a 4.0 GPA from City College and two years in the ER with zero complaints," Elena said, her voice shaking but loud enough for the secretary outside to hear. "I have never missed a shift. I have never asked for special treatment. I carried a 200-pound man on my back last week when the elevator broke. I don't need special treatment."

"Of course. We know you are a good nurse. It's just - Mr. Croft is a major donor to this hospital. His foundation gave us $4 million last year for the new wing. We want to avoid any appearance of conflict of interest. Maybe you should take an early maternity leave? Paid, of course. Starting today. Until... until things calm down."

Translation: Your billionaire husband owns us, so please disappear quietly and stop embarrassing us.

She walked out of the meeting shaking so hard she almost dropped her badge on the floor. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She knew who it was without looking.

Julian: Margaret said you didn't eat breakfast. Where are you? Your driver said you took the bus.

Elena: I'm at work. Where I am supposed to be. Before you bought it too.

She regretted it immediately after sending. She typed "sorry" but didn't send. She turned off her phone and put it in her locker.

At 6:07pm, after her shift, he was waiting outside the hospital. Not the driver. Him. In a black Maybach, sleeves rolled up, tie gone, hair messy, looking like he had come from a fight in the boardroom and lost.

"Get in," he said.

"I have the bus," Elena said. Nurses were staring from the windows. Patients were staring from the ambulance bay.

"Elena. Get in the car. Now. Please."

That please made her get in. The car smelled like him - expensive, clean, and faintly like coffee.

He didn't drive to Nob Hill. He drove fast, up Filbert Street, the steepest hill in San Francisco, past the houses that cost $10 million each, to the top of Twin Peaks where the whole city was blinking below - fog rolling in like milk, lights coming on, the Bay Bridge, Alcatraz, everything that makes people love this city and hate it at the same time.

"You didn't tell me," he said, finally, hands tight on the wheel, knuckles white.

"Tell you what?"

"That they called you into a meeting. That the press has been outside our gates since morning and Margaret had to call the police. That you cried in the bathroom for 20 minutes - yes, Patel called Margaret, Margaret called me. I had to hear it from them? I am your husband, Elena. Even if it's fake on paper, I am supposed to know when my wife is crying."

Elena crossed her arms over her belly, protecting it.

"I can handle it. I don't need you to fix it. That's not in the contract, remember? Condition number one - don't touch me, don't control me. You signed it."

Julian laughed, but it was angry and hurt and tired.

"Contract. Right. You think this is still a contract to them? To this city? To the board? You think they care about our little addendum you wrote with my Montblanc? They see a poor girl and a rich boy and they write their own story."

He turned to her. For the first time in three days, his billionaire mask fell completely. He looked 25, not 32. Tired. Scared.

"My mother cleaned houses on Nob Hill for 15 years, Elena. Fifteen years. She cleaned the toilets of people who now invite me to dinner and call me 'Julian darling.' They called her names too. 'That Filipina woman.' 'She's probably stealing.' She came home with bleeding hands. I bought this city block by block so no one would ever talk about her like that again. And now they are talking about my wife and my child the same way. How do you want me to sit and watch? Tell me."

Elena's breath caught. Her anger melted like fog.

"I'm not your wife. Not real," she whispered.

"You signed my name," he said quietly. "You wear my ring - that stupid $2 million ring you haven't taken off because you're scared to lose it in the sink. You carry my child. You are real to me. That makes you real to San Francisco. Whether you like it or not."

He reached over - slowly, asking permission with his eyes, giving her time to say no - and placed his large, warm hand on her still-small bump.

The baby kicked. For the first time. A tiny flutter, like a fish, like a butterfly, against his palm. So small Elena thought she imagined it, but Julian felt it too.

Both of them froze. The whole city below froze.

Julian's eyes went wide. Not cold blue anymore. Just blue. Human. Shocked. A boy, not a billionaire.

"Did you feel that?" he whispered, voice breaking into pieces.

Elena nodded, tears finally spilling over, hot and fast. "That was her. Or him. Saying we should stop pretending."

Julian didn't move his hand. He leaned his forehead against hers. Their breaths mixed. They stayed like that, breathing together, over the city that was trying to tear them apart, two people in a car that cost more than most houses in Sunset.

His phone rang. His lawyer. Then his mother. Then the PR team. Then the board of Cole Dynamics.

He ignored all of them. He turned his phone off.

For once, the billionaire of Nob Hill let the empire wait.

And for the first time in 72 hours, Elena didn't want to quit. She wanted to stay.