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

EVA

My relationship with Tristan has its roots in the university lecture halls, during a group project on business creation.

Naturally resistant to group work, I had nearly switched teams that day.

Fortunately, his mischievous smile when he declared he wanted to "revolutionize the business world" convinced me to stay.

This academic collaboration quickly evolved into something deeper.

Our late-night brainstorming sessions at the library naturally transformed into passionate conversations about our ambitions, our fears, and our boldest dreams. Tristan possessed that rare gift of recognizing potential in everything, including in me.

In my moments of doubt, he invariably found the right words to rekindle that creative spark I sometimes believed had gone out.

Since then, we've never parted. Our university years formed a whirlwind of complicity: shared laughter, ambitious projects carried out hand in hand, dreams whispered during our studious all-nighters.

We were a formidable team, both in lecture halls and in life.

Every victory was savored together, every failure overcome as one.

When we decided to create Community Pilot with our friends, a crucial dilemma arose.

We who had been living our love openly for five years found ourselves faced with a delicate choice.

Mixing personal and professional life represented a considerable risk, especially when our shared entrepreneurial dream was so close to becoming reality.

The decision, though painful, imposed itself as a necessity: keep our relationship secret at the office.

Gone were the tender glances during meetings, finished were the brush of fingers when exchanging files.

At work, we became simple business partners, two professionals respecting each other mutually and collaborating efficiently. Nothing more, nothing less.

Seven years have passed since that fundamental decision.

Seven long years where Tristan and I have maintained this facade with iron discipline.

In the eyes of employees, partners, and clients, we remained simple colleagues, meticulously avoiding any sign that might betray our intimacy.

Every gesture was calculated, every glance weighed, every intonation controlled.

Experience had made us understand too many times how necessary this choice was as Community Pilot became increasingly visible on the international scene.

I've seen over these years too many brilliant women be discredited and their successes attributed to their relationships rather than their true talent.

I categorically refuse to have my skills questioned.

In this still largely male-dominated field, I don't want to give any opening to malicious rumors that would reduce me to an opportunistic woman, or worse, that would accuse Tristan of nepotism.

My pride and professional integrity demand to be recognized for my skills alone.

I don't want to be respected as the 'Chairman and CEO's woman,' but as Eva Mercier, CEO of the group.

This position, I earned it through sleepless nights, personal sacrifices, and difficult decisions.

I work with as much determination as the other partners, sometimes even more, to legitimize my place.

Certainly, unlike Tristan, Steve, Satoshi, or Leila, I wasn't able to invest large sums during the creation of our startup. However, I contributed as much as they did to shape this company and lead it to what it is today.

Nevertheless, this situation weighs on me more and more heavily.

The burden of secrecy grows heavier with the years, with each tender gesture held back, with each professional event where we arrive separately like strangers.

A growing desire inhabits me: to openly acknowledge our relationship and ignore the gossips.

To finally be able to take his hand at cocktail parties, to openly share our common pride when a project succeeds.

Yet, habit has set in. For now, we therefore perpetuate our rituals: leaving for work in separate cars, him slipping away first while I finish my coffee. These small daily choreographies have become our normal, however frustrating it may be.

When I walked through the doors of Community Pilot that morning, I immediately spotted Tristan in the vast entrance hall.

He was talking with two of our partners and Audrey.

She wore a fitted pencil skirt and a silk blouse that perfectly hugged her curves.

Perched on stiletto heels, she exuded confidence.

Nothing too difficult when you have such beauty and presence.

She was the kind of woman who was used to getting what she wanted.

The partners, captivated by her words, competed in wit to provoke her laughter.

A laugh too sweet, too honeyed. At one point, she placed her hand on Tristan to get his attention.

Too caught up in the discussion, he didn't notice that her fingers lingered unnecessarily on him.

.. A wave of frustration swept through me.

I suddenly felt the urge to approach and mark my territory.

It was in moments like these that I bitterly regretted the secrecy surrounding our relationship.

When younger, Tristan was too "nice" and too lanky to interest young girls who preferred athletes or bad boys. But that changed over the years. Bad boys didn't always make their partners happy, and the boy he was became an increasingly attractive man.

Then came success.

And suddenly, Tristan became the fantasy of many women. The powerful, sunny and charismatic man, chairman and CEO of a multinational valued at over 32 billion euros. Some didn't hesitate to throw themselves at him, even in my presence. While this had amused me for a time, it had become annoying.

However, I had never felt a real threat... until Audrey.

I had to force myself not to stop, tear Audrey's arm away from Tristan, and continue my way to the elevator.

On the twenty-seventh floor, Stella, our secretary and receptionist, was already at her post, installed behind her computer. Her face lit up at the sight of me, and I couldn't help but smile back. I adored this girl. Simple, spontaneous, and, to top it all off, exemplary reliability.

"Good morning, Stella, how are you?"

"Good morning, Eva. I'm well, thank you," the young woman replied with a smile.

"And your grandmother?" I asked.

"She's doing much better and thanks you for the chocolates. She barely let me take one before stashing them in her drawer. She was like Smaug with his treasure."

A smile stretched across my lips as I imagined the scene.

"She should be able to leave the hospital by the end of the week," Stella continued.

"That's great! You must be so relieved!"

"For sure!"

I was about to leave when she added:

"By the way, Maud just called to warn about her delay. Another problem with her bus apparently."

"No worries, just tell her to come see me when she arrives," I replied. "Have a good morning, Stella."

"You too, have a good morning."

I then headed to my office, trying to focus on the day's tasks, but the image of Audrey placing her hand on Tristan's arm kept coming back to my mind.

Maud, my assistant, knocked on my door as I was finishing responding to my emails.

Always perfect in her strict suit and graying hair gathered in a perfect bun, she seemed to belong to another era.

Maud had been working for me for five years.

Aged fifty and mother of two grown boys in higher education, she was indispensable to me professionally.

Discreet and efficient, she executed her tasks with intelligence and formidable professionalism, and each day I appreciated how fortunate I was to have her by my side.

"Good morning, Maud."

"Sorry for my delay. My bus was stuck in a traffic jam."

I smiled as I picture this woman, prim and proper with her austere appearance, taking her bus each day.

We had discussed this subject once, and she had made me understand that it was a personal choice, "for the planet.

" I admired her for that. It's easy to defend great causes with eloquent phrases, but it's another thing when you have to sacrifice a bit of your comfort and well-being for said "cause. "

For fifteen minutes, we took the time to discuss and distribute the work.

I entered the conference room at quarter to ten and connected to the weekly videoconference of the group's directors.

Steve was already online, as usual. This was our little stolen moment together, before everyone else arrived.

An opportunity to decompress and exchange freely, away from the eyes and ears of others.

"Hello, Steve, how are you?" I asked, observing his facial features for any sign of fatigue or tension while waiting for his response.

"Hi, I'm good, and you?" he replied with a big, sincere smile.

"Always a bit underwater as usual, other than that, all is well," I reassured him. "What's new in London?"

"Not much. 'It's still raining cats and dogs,' it's depressing."

I burst out laughing.

"I love English expressions!"

"Wait," said Steve, "I have a 'dad joke' for you. What's the gardener's worst nightmare?"

I took a few moments to think.

"Having a green thumb but blue tomatoes," I replied with a smile.

"Not bad," approved Steve. "But that's not it, try again!"

"Um... Planting carrots and harvesting spaghetti."

"Haha! I love it! No. The gardener's worst nightmare is to plant himself when he thinks he has a green thumb!" he said, laughing.

"Pfff! Your joke is barely funny," I grumbled. "Where did you hear it? At the coffee machine?"

"I don't see what's wrong with it," he replied, pretending to be offended. "Besides, for your information, we've invested in a superb Italian coffee machine that makes incredible cappuccinos!"

"Now you've got my attention!"

"You can test it on your next visit. Let me know as soon as you've booked a date, and I'll get you tickets to visit the London Tower."

"You're the best! Speaking of visits, you're still coming in two weeks, right?"

"Yes, I already have the plane tickets."

The door to the room opened, letting Tristan and Audrey in.

Didn't he see that she was deliberately invading his personal space?

Of course not: he was already cheerfully chatting with Steve, oblivious to Audrey's game.

She gave me a mocking look, daring me to react.

Fury rose in me, burning, but before I could say anything, Leila and Satoshi entered, followed by the other department directors.

In the blink of an eye, Audrey put a professional distance between herself and Tristan, displaying a perfect expression of innocence.

She knew exactly what she was doing... The bitch.

I greeted my colleagues. We then took our places around the table, and the meeting began.

Seated next to Tristan, Audrey immediately took notes, focused and professional, like an exemplary assistant.

At no point did she display any questionable attitude, despite the admiring glances that some men present sent her way.

Her behavior in front of others was impeccable, and it was only with me that she showed her true face, and I had no doubt about the reason.

One way or another, she knew I was Tristan's partner, and she fully intended to get rid of me to take my place. Let her try!