You had a job to do.

Cover Tripp van der Bilt’s campaign. Report the facts. Stay objective. Keep your distance.

But politics, you quickly realized, wasn’t just black and white—and neither was Tripp.

From the moment you first interviewed him, he was magnetic. Confident, charming, sharp as a whip—but there was something else, something hidden behind the polished speeches. Something that made you want to dig deeper, even as every professional instinct screamed not to.

“You’re asking a lot of questions,” he said one evening, leaning back in his chair as the campaign office emptied around you.

“I’m a journalist,” you replied. “It’s my job.”

He smirked, but there was a shadow behind his eyes. “Fair enough. Just… be careful what you dig up.”

The warning should have been enough. It wasn’t.

As the weeks passed, you spent more time together—campaign stops, interviews, late-night strategy sessions. You saw him behind closed doors, negotiating, compromising, bending truths to survive in the ruthless political world. You saw the man he presented to the public, and the man he hid from everyone else.

And slowly, the line between reporting and involvement blurred.

One night, in the quiet of his office, you discovered a secret—a truth he was trying to bury. Something that could ruin him. You froze, your pen hovering over your notebook. This was the story that could make your career. But it would destroy him.

Tripp noticed your hesitation. “What are you thinking?” he asked softly.

You swallowed. “You know I’m supposed to report everything. But—”

He stepped closer, eyes intense. “But you don’t want to?”

“I… I don’t want to hurt you,” you admitted.

For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then he smiled, low and knowing. “I’ve been honest with you, more than anyone else. And I trust you—more than I probably should.”