Page 24 of The Billionaire’s Betrayal (Billionaires of Paris #2)

EVA

My mood was at rock bottom. The Christmas market photo Steve had sent—rather than Tristan—only emphasized how distant he had become.

Sitting on our couch, I stared at the Paris skyline through the floor-to-ceiling window when my phone rang.

It was Mom. Ever since Dad passed away, she had been my rock, the unwavering force in my life, always knowing the right words to say.

Now settled in Brittany with Jean and my half-brother Erwan, she led a peaceful life on their farm.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Eva, how are you?"

Her warm, familiar voice instantly loosened something inside me. Just like when I was little, when she could calm my fears with a single word.

"I’m fine, thanks," I replied. "And you? How’s life in Brittany?"

"Oh, Jean is finishing up the autumn and winter harvest. We have so many pumpkins and squash that we don’t know where to store them all.

If you want to make a soup or a pie, now’s the time!

" she laughed. "Erwan is working on preparing the soil for the next season and fixing damaged structures. As for me, I’ve started planting seedlings in the greenhouse—garlic, onions, shallots. We keep busy! And you?"

"I’m keeping busy too, but I’ve slowed down a bit. I’ve cut back my office hours, trying to take better care of my work-life balance."

"That’s a good thing. And Tristan?"

"He… has a new assistant, he’s catching up on work..."

The silence that followed was telling. Mom had always known how to read between my lines.

"And outside of work? How are you two doing?"

"We’re fine," I lied. "Ups and downs, like any couple."

She waited, patient. She knew I needed to talk, that the words would come out eventually.

"Mom… Have you ever doubted Dad? Doubted his love for you?"

"Oh, sweetheart…" She let out a soft sigh. "What makes you ask that?"

"I don’t want to talk about it. Just answer me, please."

Her answer about the rough patch they had after Alban was born moved me. This shared vulnerability, the proof that even the strongest couples faced storms.

"But Dad… He never looked at another woman, did he?"

"No, of course not." She paused. "Eva, Tristan loves you, I’m sure of it. Whatever you’re going through, you can overcome it together."

After hanging up, I stayed still for a while, her words echoing in my mind.

She was right. Tristan and I had to fight for our relationship.

There was no other option. I went to the bathroom to freshen up.

Once I looked human again, I faced the mirror, scrutinizing myself from head to toe, with no indulgence, no filter.

A regular face, a bit too plain; hazel eyes, nothing remarkable; chestnut hair, dull and lifeless; a well-proportioned figure, but nothing breathtaking.

No wonder Tristan preferred fantasizing about someone like Audrey.

How could I possibly compete? It was impossible.

And yet, I refused to give up.

I thought about all our firsts, all the battles we had won together, and I made my decision.

I was going to fight. After everything we’d shared, our story didn’t deserve such a pathetic ending.

I refused to believe it could all crumble like this.

I would fight to win him back. I could do it. I was sure of it.

I dialed Clara’s number without hesitation.

My neighbor, two floors down, was more than an international model—she was my confidante in times when I needed a confidence boost. Her natural poise and keen eye for beauty, sharpened by years in the fashion industry, made her the perfect advisor in moments of doubt.

I might have climbed the career ladder with a determination that impressed those around me, but doubts crept in more often than I liked to admit—especially in an industry as ruthless as ours.

Coming from a modest background, I had to fight twice as hard as others to prove my worth.

Confidence wasn’t something you earned once and kept forever.

There were always highs and lows, and everyone handled them differently.

Some crushed others to prove they were better, turning their insecurities into weapons.

Others buried themselves in work until they burned out.

Me? I had learned to recognize those vulnerable moments and deal with them differently.

Sometimes, a new outfit was all it took to restore my confidence, to make me feel better in my own skin.

Clara understood this better than anyone.

But this time, it wasn’t just about style or appearance.

I wasn’t calling her for work attire—I needed a magic wand.

"Hey, Eva, how are you?"

Her warm voice made me smile.

"Clara, I need you for a ‘seduction mission.’"

"And who’s the target?" she asked, intrigued.

"Tristan."

Her light, knowing laughter echoed through the phone.

"Of course, darling."

"Tomorrow, five o’clock? Tristan’s in Norway, he won’t be back for two days."

"Secrets, seduction… I love it! See you tomorrow, Eva."

The next day, Marco drove us to the most exclusive boutiques in Paris. Clara, stunning as always, had a way of making every shopping trip unforgettable.

"The key," she explained as we strolled from store to store, "is to enhance your natural beauty, not turn you into someone else. If you love jeans, wear jeans—but the best ones, perfectly cut. Paris is full of designers eager to showcase your elegance."

Every boutique was a new revelation. Clara selected pieces with a discerning eye—dresses that hugged my figure without being vulgar, lingerie that hinted rather than revealed, jewelry that caught the light like tiny stars.

With each fitting, I rediscovered myself in the mirror.

Not a different woman. Just a better version of myself.

"See, Eva?" Clara murmured, adjusting a final earring. "You’re stunning. If you wanted to, no man could resist you."

But I only wanted one. And for him, I was willing to fight.

"Tomorrow," she announced as Marco loaded our bags into the car, "we’re heading to the salon and spa."

After a long shower, I slipped into bed when my phone vibrated. Tristan. I answered with a playful smile.

"Hey, handsome, how are you?" I said, my voice soft and teasing.

"Hey," he replied, a smile audible in his tone. "I’m exhausted. Steve dragged me all over town."

"Poor baby," I teased. "Tourism is such a nightmare."

There was a pause, then his voice, suddenly intense.

"Say that again."

"What? Tourism is such a—"

"No, what you said before that," he interrupted.

Confused, I replayed our conversation in my head until I realized what he wanted to hear.

"Poor baby…" I repeated, my voice suddenly shy.

"It’s been forever since you called me that," he murmured. "I didn’t realize how much I missed it…"

I sensed all the unspoken feelings hidden in those words—he missed our closeness, the tenderness we had lost along the way.

"I missed it too."

We stayed on the phone for nearly half an hour, talking about everything and nothing, just like before. When I hung up, my heart swelled with hope.

His voice still echoed in my mind as I absently ran my fingers over the silk of one of my new dresses. A slow smile spread across my lips. The seduction mission had begun, and I could already feel it working.

That night, wrapped in my sheets, I drifted off imagining his face when he’d see me in my new outfits. This time, I would be the one to drive him wild with desire.