Page 37 of The Billionaire’s Betrayal (Billionaires of Paris #2)

EVA

I declined Steve's offer to accompany him to the London offices.

The mere thought of running into other colleagues tied my stomach in knots, not to mention the risk of Tristan discovering my location.

Despite the time off I had taken, I couldn't completely detach from work: finalizing the inauguration of the Hope Foundation couldn't wait.

Fortunately, Leila and Maud assured me of their support on-site.

I knew I could count on their unwavering loyalty.

It was through them that I learned Audrey was taking advantage of my absence to try to appropriate the inaugural speech. This news didn't even surprise me—it was so predictable of her.

"What a bitch!" Leila had exclaimed with her usual frankness. "I was ready to kick her out myself, but Tristan beat me to it. 'Absolutely not!' he'd said. 'Eva will deliver this speech and no one else. This project is hers, no one will steal this honor from her.'"

This information left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Sure, I was relieved that he was finally defending me against that opportunist, but it was too little, too late.

The pain of his betrayal remained there, throbbing, like a wound that refuses to heal.

I needed time to mend my wounded heart, and his sudden stance changed nothing.

In the evening, Steve met me at the apartment for a private dinner.

His affection enveloped me in a warm, protective glow, and even though I tried to mask my pain, I knew he wasn't fooled.

With infinite patience and tenderness, he tried to distract me, to make me smile.

He even took Friday afternoon off to take me "for some fresh air," as he put it.

He guided me through London's bustling streets, between colorful markets and the city's picturesque neighborhoods.

Reminiscing about our college years, we bought takeout from an Indian food truck and enjoyed it while walking, just like old times.

After three hours of wandering, fatigue began to set in.

As I crossed the street, a violent dizzy spell suddenly hit me, and I had to hold onto Steve to avoid collapsing.

"Eva?" he worried, his arm instinctively tightening around my waist.

"It's nothing, just dizziness, it'll pass," I tried to reassure him.

"Are you kidding? This is the third time this week!" he replied, his brows furrowed.

Before I could protest, he took out his phone and dialed a number with precise, determined movements.

"What are you doing?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

"I'm calling my doctor," he replied in a tone that allowed no discussion.

"You're not going to bother him just for this! It's really nothing," I protested weakly.

Steve raised a finger to silence me, without even looking at me.

"Hi, Steve here. I need a favor. My friend isn't feeling well, and I'd like you to see her as soon as possible... Yes... Yes. Thank you very much. I really appreciate it."

He hung up and turned to me, his expression clearly indicating he wouldn't back down.

"All set. David is at the clinic and he'll examine you right away."

I sighed, resigned. When Steve took that protective tone, I knew it was useless to argue.

The taxi dropped us off in front of the clinic, and Steve gave me an encouraging smile to try to ease my growing apprehension.

At reception, a nurse greeted us warmly and announced our presence.

A few moments later, David, a kind-looking man in his forties with fine lines around his eyes, approached us.

After greeting us, he led me to an examination room with soothing white walls.

"How are you feeling?" he asked in English while inviting me to sit on the examination table.

"Hello," I replied in the same language, embarrassed by all this attention. "I've just been feeling a bit strange lately, but it's probably just fatigue and stress. I'm sorry Steve bothered you for so little."

"Don't worry about it," he assured me with a reassuring smile. "It's always better to check. Is this the first time you've felt this kind of discomfort?"

"No, it's happened several times recently. I've also had migraines and unusual fatigue."

The doctor nodded as he noted my answers in his notebook, the scratching of his pen echoing in the silence of the room. He then grabbed his stethoscope and listened to my heart and lungs, his precise and professional gestures calming me despite my anxiety.

"Everything seems normal there," he said calmly, removing the stethoscope. "Please lie down. I'm going to do an ultrasound to further examine and check something."

I lay down, my heart beating harder with each second.

The cold gel on my abdomen made me shiver, then the probe slowly glided over my skin.

My eyes remained fixed on the screen where blurry images scrolled by that I desperately tried to decipher.

The doctor's concentrated expression only heightened my anxiety.

After what seemed like an eternity, David turned to me, his gaze both serious and gentle.

"Eva, according to the images, it appears you're pregnant, three to four weeks along," he said in a measured voice.

The words echoed in my head like a thunderclap.

Pregnant. My body froze as I tried to process the information.

Three to four weeks... My mind quickly did the calculation, taking me back to that night after Tristan's return from Oslo.

That night when I thought I had won him back, when everything seemed possible again.

"Are... are you sure?" I stammered, my throat tight.

The doctor slowly nodded, his eyes seeking mine with kindness.

A wave of panic washed over me.

"But how is that possible?" I breathed, incredulous. "I'm on the pill."

"Sometimes, a simple oversight or a drug interaction can reduce its effectiveness," he replied gently. "It can also happen if your intake schedule has been irregular."

I closed my eyes, trying to regain my composure. With my constant business trips, I did occasionally delay taking my pills. But what did it matter now? The result was there, undeniable. I was pregnant.

"My God, what am I going to do?" I whispered, lost in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

I wasn't ready to be a mother. Not now. Not when my love life was falling apart, when my future with Tristan seemed more uncertain than ever. How could I take care of a child under such conditions? The very idea seemed absurd.

"I understand this might come as a shock, Eva," the doctor continued in a soothing voice. "We'll do some additional tests to verify that everything is progressing well and to more precisely date the pregnancy. But from what I can see at the moment, there's nothing abnormal or concerning."

He gently removed the probe and cleaned the gel from my abdomen before giving me instructions on the next tests and appointments. His words floated around me as if in a fog, distant, unreal. He then went out to greet Steve while a nurse approached for the samples.

When I returned to the waiting room, Steve jumped up, his face marked with concern.

"So?" he asked, the tension audible in his voice.

I remained paralyzed for a moment, the words stuck in my throat, before whispering:

"I'm... I'm pregnant."

Steve's expression instantly transformed, mixing surprise and compassion. Without a word, he pulled me to him and held me in his arms. This simple gesture of comfort broke down my defenses. A wave of silent tears overwhelmed me.

"It's going to be okay, Eva," he whispered with infinite gentleness. "You're not alone, okay? We'll face this together."

I clung to him like a lifeline, grateful for his presence. But even in the warmth of his embrace, visceral anxiety twisted my gut. How was I going to handle all this? How could I announce this news to Tristan when our relationship was in tatters?

It was barely five o'clock when the taxi dropped us off at Steve's place.

I let him answer a work call and took refuge in the guest room, my improvised sanctuary.

I needed space to digest the news that had just turned my life upside down.

I was going to become a mother. Just thinking about it made my heart race, as if this still fragile truth was seeking to anchor itself in every fiber of my being.

A dizzying feeling mixed with fear and deep joy overwhelmed me. I was going to be a mom!

But immediately, another thought imposed itself: Tristan.

I had to tell him. Despite everything that had happened between us, despite Audrey and this distance I was desperately trying to maintain, he remained this baby's father.

I couldn't hide such news from him. And, even if I didn't dare admit it out loud, I needed to talk to him, to hear his voice.

Despite my anger and disappointment, he was still the man I loved. I needed him.

Without further thought, I grabbed my phone and dialed his number. After two rings, his voicemail triggered:

" You've reached Tristan de La Tour's voicemail. I'm not available at the moment, but please leave a message and I'll call you back."

" Tristan, it's Eva... I need to talk to you, it's important. Please call me back. "

I hung up, my heart tight. It wasn't serious, he must be in a meeting. He would call me back, I was certain.

But the minutes ticked by with unbearable slowness, and the wait became oppressive.

Why wasn't he calling back? My mind began to race, weaving increasingly dark scenarios.

Had he already forgotten me? Had I ceased to be a priority?

And this baby... how would he take the news?

Would he be happy? Or angry? What if he thought I was trying to trap him to keep him close to me?

The last thing I wanted was to force him into a role he didn't want.

The memory of his confessions resurfaced, more vivid and painful than ever. Maybe he was with her right now...

Lying on the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, I watched time pass.

With each second of silence, my doubts became more oppressive.

Questions looped in my head like an infernal carousel: what if he didn't want this child?

Could I face this ordeal without him? That's when a truth imposed itself: I would keep this child, with or without him.

Whatever happened between Tristan and me, this baby was already a part of me.

I already loved it, with a visceral, deep love that I never would have imagined possible.

Night fell without any news from him. I joined Steve for a quick dinner, but my mind wandered elsewhere, lost in the void of his silence.

My friend tried to talk to me, to distract me, but I only wanted one thing: to return to the solitude of my room.

Using fatigue as an excuse, I withdrew right after the meal.

I waited for Tristan to call me back, but he didn't. Instead, my phone vibrated, displaying an unexpected name: Lazarus Rousseau. What could he possibly want from me? A weary sigh escaped me as I answered.

"Good evening, Ms. Mercier, this is Lazarus Rousseau from Aron Capital investment fund. I heard you were in London and I'd like to meet with you to discuss an important matter. Would you be available tomorrow at noon?"