You weren’t supposed to hear it.

You’d stopped outside Tripp van der Bilt’s office to drop off a folder when his voice cut through the door—low, sharp, nothing like the polished tone he used in public.

“If this gets out, I’m finished,” he said. A pause. “No. We bury it. Like the others.”

Your stomach dropped.

You stepped back just as the door opened.

Tripp froze when he saw you standing there, folder clutched to your chest. For a moment, the congressman vanished—and the man beneath the suit stared back, calculating.

“How long were you there?” he asked.

“Long enough,” you said honestly.

Silence stretched between you.

You expected anger. Threats. Maybe even security.

Instead, Tripp closed the door and gestured for you to follow him inside.

“Sit,” he said, softer now.

From that day on, you were everywhere.

Copied on emails you didn’t need. Pulled into late-night meetings. Asked for opinions no intern should be giving. It felt less like mentorship and more like surveillance—until you realized something else was happening.

He trusted you.

Or maybe he needed you.

“You could ruin me,” he said one night, loosening his tie as the city lights flickered outside. “You know that, right?”

“You could ruin yourself,” you replied.

That made him laugh—short, bitter. “You’re not afraid of me.”

“I’m afraid of what you’re becoming,” you said quietly.

The honesty caught him off guard. He leaned against the desk, studying you like you were the only real thing in the room.

“You know why I keep you close?” he asked.

“Because I’m a liability,” you said.

“Because you’re the only one who sees me,” he corrected. “And didn’t run.”

Gossip Girl stirred soon after.

Spotted: Van der Bilt playing defense. Someone in his inner circle knows where the bodies are buried. Question is—will they stay loyal?

The tension snapped the next morning.

“You haven’t said anything,” Tripp said, searching your face. “Why?"