Page 15 of The Billionaire’s Betrayal (Billionaires of Paris #2)

TRISTAN

Audrey was exceptional. Her latest triumph was securing a major contract, the client utterly charmed by her professionalism and natural allure. To celebrate, we organized a dinner that stretched late into the night, filled with lively discussions and bursts of laughter.

After saying goodbye to the client, I walked Audrey to her SUV, parked just a few steps away from the restaurant.

Suddenly, she closed the distance between us, her eyes searching mine as her hand rested on my chest. The unexpected touch sent a wave of conflicting emotions through me—surprise and something else I refused to name.

My heart pounded, but the thought of Eva snapped me back to reality.

I gently took Audrey’s hand and moved it away.

“I hope I haven’t given you the wrong impression, Audrey,” I said carefully. “You’re an incredible woman, but I’m in a relationship. I care too much about what I have to risk it. Nothing can ever happen between us.”

She lowered her gaze, a flush creeping up her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Tristan,” she murmured. “I don’t know what came over me. It was a mistake… It won’t happen again.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. It’s already forgotten,” I replied, trying to defuse the awkwardness between us.

Audrey never tried again, but I couldn’t ignore the way she looked at me when she thought I wasn’t watching.

That flicker in her eyes when we were alone created a barely perceptible but undeniable tension.

I should have put a definitive end to it, but something held me back.

Maybe the belief that the attraction would fade on its own, or the confidence that I could maintain the necessary boundaries.

At another time, I would have told Eva about it. But our relationship was already strained enough without adding Audrey’s misguided advance to the mix. I convinced myself that silence was the better choice.

It was 10:30 PM when I stepped into our penthouse, my mind still clouded by the wine and the night’s conversations. Eva stood in the living room, a motionless silhouette against the city lights. Even before she spoke, I could feel the tension in the air, that familiar electricity before a fight.

“You’re late,” she said, her voice ice-cold, without even turning around.

“What is that supposed to mean?” I shot back, irritated by the interrogation. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

She finally turned, her eyes shining with barely contained anger. “Do you realize it’s past ten? I’ve been waiting for you for hours. Were you so busy you couldn’t take a second to call or text me?”

Frustration flared inside me, fueled by exhaustion. “Look, you’re right. I should have messaged you,” I admitted. “But it’s been a draining day, Eva. I don’t need you adding to it.”

My voice trembled with frustration. I knew I should have let her know about dinner with the client, but I was too drained to deal with her jealousy, her doubts, her veiled accusations.

“I’m exhausted,” I exhaled. “If you’re done, I’d like to take a shower and go to bed.”

The silence that followed said more than any words could. I saw the way her eyes glistened before she turned away, the door to the guest room slamming shut like a verdict.

I stood there for a moment, a bitter taste in my mouth. As I made my way to the kitchen island to grab a glass of water, I noticed a covered plate on the table. Guilt tightened in my throat. Eva had cooked for me, waited for me… I placed the plate in the fridge.

Under the hot shower, I let the water run over my tense shoulders, hoping it would wash away the unease clinging to me. When I stepped out, I hoped Eva would have changed her mind and come back to our bed, but it was empty.

I barely slept that night, tossing and turning in a bed that suddenly felt too big.

The memory of Eva’s tear-filled eyes weighed heavily on my chest, guilt gnawing at me like a slow poison.

At dawn, unable to take it anymore, I slipped into the guest room.

The open shutters let in a bluish light, casting an almost surreal glow over the space.

Eva didn’t move, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed that she was awake.

Without a word, I lay down beside her and wrapped my arms around her.

She stiffened for a moment before melting into me, as if her body had decided to forgive before her mind did.

“I’m sorry for hurting you, Eva,” I murmured against her neck. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. You were right, I should have told you about dinner. I’ll be more mindful next time.”

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that either,” she whispered, regret lacing her voice. “I just wanted to spend time with you last night. I miss you, Tristan. We barely see each other anymore, we barely talk.”

“I miss you too.”

In the silence that followed, I felt her body tremble slightly against mine.

“Sometimes, I feel like you’re slipping away, and it terrifies me,” she admitted, her voice cracking.

Her confession squeezed my heart. I held her tighter, as if I could physically erase her fears.

“I’m sorry you feel that way. That’s not the case at all,” I reassured her. “Work has just been… complicated lately. Nothing is going the way I want. But I care about you, Eva. I’ll make more of an effort. I promise.”

She turned in my arms, her gaze searching mine in the dim light. I took a deep breath, suddenly aware of the weight of my next words.

“I love you, Eva.”

“I love you too.”

She curled into me, her body fitting against mine. The pressure in my chest eased slightly, though I knew our problems were far from solved. But for now, for a few hours, I just wanted to hold on to her warmth.

That Saturday, as we sat at the kitchen island for lunch, Eva was unusually quiet, lost in thought. Her fork traced idle patterns on her plate.

“Tristan… I’ve been thinking a lot about us lately.”

Her voice was steady but serious, making me look up. She avoided my gaze, fidgeting with her fork, as if the words she was about to say weighed on her.

“You know, it’s hard sometimes, pretending to be just colleagues at work and not being able to tell the world that you’re mine.”

Her words hung in the sunlit kitchen, heavy with meaning. A lump formed in my throat. I knew where this was going.

“It’s just that…” She dropped her gaze, her fingers trembling slightly around her fork. “I think it would be easier if people knew. We wouldn’t have to hide anymore. I wouldn’t have to sit back in silence while women throw themselves at you like I don’t exist…”

The real meaning behind her words lingered between us, unspoken yet crystal clear: Audrey.

I set my fork down, inhaling deeply. I wanted to reassure her, to say yes without hesitation, but something inside me resisted.

“Eva,” I said gently, trying to soften the blow. “I understand how you feel, I do. But I don’t know if that’s the right decision.”

I hesitated, choosing my words carefully. “If our relationship became public, every decision I make regarding you at work would be questioned. People would assume I’m biased, that I’m giving you special treatment.”

“I know that,” she said, her voice barely steady. “But I’m willing to take that risk.”

She finally met my gaze, her eyes filled with raw vulnerability. “Look, I don’t want to pressure you. Just… think about it, okay?”