Page 27 of The Billionaire’s Betrayal (Billionaires of Paris #2)

EVA

I was making pancakes for breakfast when the delivery man rang the doorbell with the cleaned clothes. I took them and placed them on the couch.

"Here, the boss asked me to give you this," he said, handing me a folded piece of paper. "We found it in one of your man's jackets. He said it might be useful to you."

I thanked him absently, slipping a tip into his hand.

It was only after he left that I unfolded the paper.

A receipt. From a jewelry store in New York.

My eyes stopped on the line that would change everything: " Love Necklace, yellow gold, set with a brilliant diamond ," followed by an amount that made me dizzy.

My hands began to shake violently. Audrey's necklace. It wasn't a lie. The puzzle pieces were coming together with devastating cruelty. A "Love Necklace." The irony of the name made me nauseous.

The bedroom door opened, and Tristan appeared, smiling.

His expression changed instantly when he saw my face.

His eyes fell on the jewelry receipt I was holding in my trembling fingers, and I saw panic cross his gaze when he recognized it.

However, he quickly regained control of his emotions.

I saw him searching for excuses at lightning speed, but I didn't give him time.

I didn't want to see how much he could lie to me; it would destroy what little trust I had left in him.

"You gave Audrey a diamond necklace?"

"It's not what you think," he pleaded, taking a step toward me.

A bitter laugh rose in my throat. That phrase, so clichéd, so pathetic. Rage and pain battled in my chest.

"Audrey had forgotten the necklace that went with her dress, and since it was a professional event, I got it for her.

It doesn't go any further than that," he explained in a voice meant to sound reasonable.

I felt tears coming to my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.

The next words came out in a strangled whisper.

"We're not talking about costume jewelry but a diamond pendant, a symbol of eternal love," I whispered, my voice trembling with grief.

"I swear it's not like that! You have to believe me!" He ran a nervous hand through his hair, cornered.

"It was just for work, nothing more," he insisted, taking another step toward me. I instinctively backed away. The amount on the receipt seemed to taunt me. A four-figure "professional gift." Who was he trying to convince?

"I need to think. I'm going to get some air."

"Don't do this, Eva. Let me explain."

His hand closed around my wrist as I grabbed my coat.

The contact burned me. How dare he hold me back like this while giving a love necklace to another woman?

The duality of his actions made me dizzy.

With one hand, he tried to keep me close to him; with the other, he destroyed everything we had built.

I left the penthouse without really knowing where I was going.

The icy late December drizzle infiltrated under my coat, but I didn't care.

I walked along the Seine, letting my steps guide me.

The gray sky blended with the river water, creating an atmosphere as gloomy as my thoughts.

Arriving at the Alma Bridge, I stopped, staring at the swirling water below.

The biting wind whipped my face, carrying away the tears I could no longer hold back.

"Love Necklace."

These words echoed in my head like a sentence. It wasn't so much the value of the jewelry that broke me, but what it represented. You don't give that kind of gift to a simple assistant.

The truth I had been refusing to see for weeks finally imposed itself. Tristan was moving away from me emotionally. He may have chosen me, but it was more out of duty than love. What he felt for Audrey went beyond a simple passing attraction. He had feelings for her. Maybe he already loved her.

I didn't know what to do with this discovery; I was still in shock.

The rain intensified, soaking my hair, streaming down my face. I stood there, motionless, watching Paris fade into the mist.

When I finally returned home, it was night. I had apparently spent the whole day wandering the streets of Paris. Tristan jumped up at the sight of me, obviously relieved to see me intact and worried about my emotional state. I ignored him, heading straight for the guest room.

"Eva, please," he pleaded. "Listen to me."

I closed the door without answering. There was nothing to explain. His panicked look when I discovered the receipt said more than words. I heard him stay for a moment behind the door, probably hesitating to insist, before his footsteps moved away down the hallway.

Sitting on the bed, soaked and chilled to the bone, I stared into space. The tears had stopped flowing, giving way to a dull pain that devoured me from within. I no longer knew if I should continue to fight or accept that some battles were lost from the start.

After a scalding shower that failed to warm me, I took refuge in bed, the sheets pulled up to my chin like a pathetic armor against reality.

In the darkness, the familiar sounds of the apartment reached me muffled: Tristan pacing in the living room, his hesitant step at my door, his breathing on the other side of the wall.

Each sound reminded me of what I was losing.

Perhaps that was true courage: knowing when to give up, before the pain completely destroys us. Before there are only ruins of what we once were.

The idea tightened my throat.

Give up.

The very word made me nauseous, but it imposed itself with cruel clarity. Sometimes, loving also meant knowing when to let go, to move away before love turns into bitterness and there is nothing left of us.

The night stretched into endless hours, each minute a new battle between my heart that wanted to hold on and my reason that pushed me to leave.

During the night, I regained a certain lucidity. The despair that had overwhelmed me yesterday was fading, giving way to more nuanced reflection.

Examining the situation from different angles, Tristan's explanation took on another dimension.

Wasn't it typical of him, after all, to act without measuring the impact of his gestures?

He had always had this disarming candor in human relationships, this almost touching inability to perceive double meanings and manipulations.

Perhaps he really hadn't grasped that a "Love Necklace" given to his assistant crossed professional boundaries.

Audrey, on the other hand, knew exactly what she was doing. I recalled her triumphant smile when she told me about the necklace, her calculated way of emphasizing that Tristan had fastened it for her. Every word had been chosen to hurt me.

But wasn't I lying to myself? Desperately seeking excuses for Tristan? The images of their complicity before Oslo came back to me like so many stabs: their shared laughter, their hushed conversations, the way he looked at her.

In the dawn light, I let the memories flood me.

Our first meeting, that immediate spark between us.

Our crazy dreams of creating something together.

The birth of Community Pilot, those sleepless nights spent working side by side, our victories celebrated together or with our friends, those moments of doubt when one supported the other unfailingly.

Seven years of life together. Seven years of love built stone by stone.

Could I really let a doubt, however legitimate, destroy all that?

A certainty slowly emerged from this emotional chaos: as long as I had no irrefutable proof of his betrayal, I would fight. Not out of desperation or blindness, but because our story deserved that chance. What we had built together was worth more than a moment of doubt.