Page 19 of The Billionaire’s Betrayal (Billionaires of Paris #2)

EVA

I had decided to welcome about thirty young beneficiaries from the Hope Foundation to our offices. My goal was simple: to show them what a real workplace looks like—where ideas take shape and become reality.

But a long speech wouldn’t do any good. They weren’t here for a boring lecture, and neither was I.

As I got ready this morning, I thought about my own youth, about the Eva who didn’t dare dream too big.

If someone had told me back then that I’d be running a multinational company…

I probably would’ve laughed. That was exactly what I wanted to show them today: that even the wildest dreams can come true.

For the occasion, I went with a simple turtleneck, jeans, and sneakers. Nothing too formal—I wanted to feel comfortable and approachable, to show them I was still one of them.

Maud, looking impeccable in her slightly strict suit, and Carlos, an enthusiastic HR intern, helped me welcome the young visitors. We wanted them to feel at ease right away, like they were already part of the team.

I had planned everything to keep the atmosphere relaxed—no imposing conference room, just a bright, open space where they could feel comfortable. A few drinks and snacks were laid out to break the ice and encourage conversation.

As they arrived, some looked visibly intimidated, while others let their curiosity show.

"Welcome to Community Pilot," I said with a smile. "I’m so glad to see you all here."

After a quick introduction to the company, I added, still smiling, "Now, we’re going to take a tour of the office, and you’ll meet people who, just like you, started with simple ideas and turned them into real projects.

After that, we’ll switch to ‘startup incubator’ mode.

I can’t wait to hear your ideas. You’re here to experiment, to see how far your creativity can take you. "

As we met the teams, the young participants started asking questions—hesitant at first, then with growing confidence. They were fascinated by what they saw. Our team’s energy was contagious, and I could see in their eyes that a seed had been planted.

After the tour, I gathered them around the whiteboards and sticky notes.

"Now it’s your turn," I said, handing them markers. "Imagine this space is your lab. Dream big. Write down your ideas, no matter how crazy or impossible they seem. We’re here to test them, to see what works."

They exchanged glances, hesitant at first. Then one of them grabbed a marker and wrote their idea on the board. Soon, the others followed. The room buzzed with energy as ideas flowed, connected, evolved. The atmosphere was electric.

Watching them come alive, sharing their thoughts with growing passion, made me happier than I could have imagined.

"Eva," asked Sarah, one of the young participants, "if you could give us just one piece of advice, what would it be?"

I took a moment to think.

"Good question," I replied. "Since you were selected for this program, people have been telling you that you have great potential. And it’s true. But potential, if you don’t use it, is just wasted. So here’s my advice: seize your opportunities—because no one will do it for you."

The day flew by. By the end, the young participants left buzzing with ideas, filled with the drive to make their dreams a reality.

As I watched them go, I felt a mix of pride and hope. Despite my personal struggles, moments like these reminded me why I did all this. The Foundation wasn’t just another project—it was my way of giving back.

One text. Just one: " Landed in NY. Have a good night. " Sent three days ago. That was all I had heard from Tristan since he left. My three messages had gone unanswered, lost in a digital void that felt like a reflection of the growing distance between us.

I still remembered the business trips when he’d always find time to call, even between meetings.

I missed his voice. Those little moments that punctuated our days, the stolen conversations where he’d tell me about his encounters, his thoughts.

Now, he had Audrey to share those with. That thought crushed me.

The gym had become my refuge. Every night, I pounded the punching bag until my muscles screamed in pain.

One-two, hook. Left, right, uppercut. The dull thud of my fists against the leather matched the rhythm of my thoughts.

The sweat dripping down my face sometimes mixed with tears I refused to acknowledge.

Physical exhaustion gave me a few hours of peace, but in the morning, reality came crashing back.

Leila, worried about seeing me spiral, planned a night out at a trendy bar on the Champs-élysées.

I let her drag me along, trying to play along.

I smiled at jokes, nodded in conversations, but my mind was elsewhere.

Every couple I saw reminded me of my loneliness.

Every burst of laughter rang hollow in my ears.

The headache I used as an excuse to leave wasn’t entirely fake.

Leila refused to let me go home alone—her determined expression left no room for argument.

We walked in silence along the Champs-élysées.

The Christmas lights twinkled overhead, creating a magical atmosphere that cruelly contrasted with the emptiness inside me.

Storefronts overflowed with festive decorations, a reminder that the holidays were coming.

A single tear betrayed me, rolling down my cheek. I let it fall, too drained to keep up my defenses. The December air froze it almost instantly.

"Fuck," Leila muttered when she saw my face. "I’m going to kill him."

She pulled me into a tight hug, wrapping me in protective warmth.

And there, in the middle of the sparkling Champs-élysées, surrounded by joyful tourists and entwined lovers, I finally let my grief take over.

Silent sobs wracked my body as Leila held me close, as if trying to keep me from completely falling apart.