Page 48 of The Billionaire’s Betrayal (Billionaires of Paris #2)

EVA

Leila had offered us an enchanted interlude at a luxurious spa in Normandy, an hour from Paris. Upon arrival, the hushed atmosphere enveloped us like a cocoon, the scents of lavender and sandalwood instantly soothing our troubled minds.

The ritual began with a perfumed bath where lavender and chamomile flowers danced on the surface of the steaming water.

We slipped into the beneficial warmth, letting our muscles relax one by one.

Leila sighed with well-being, her shoulders finally dropping.

Our light chatter floated in the air like petals on water, gently releasing the tensions of recent days.

The massages that followed were pure moments of grace. Two practitioners with expert hands took care of us, Leila opting for hot stones, me for essential oils. Under perfectly measured pressures, each knot of tension unwound, carrying away the stress of recent days.

By evening, we found ourselves at Leila's for a cozy night in. In comfortable pajamas, nestled in a nest of cushions and blankets, we were surrounded by our favorite comforts: our favorite films, favorite dishes, and a box of macarons waiting just for us.

While helping her move the coffee table, my eye caught an incongruous detail: an old edition of Asimov's Foundation. I smiled inwardly: Leila hated science fiction.

"Leila, Satoshi forgot his book. Don't forget to return it to him Monday."

She froze before letting out a curse, realizing she had just given herself away.

"Damn, you got me!"

"So, little secret-keeper! You're back together? I knew it!"

"It's not what you think," she protested, cheeks pinking.

"Oh yes it is, and you're going to tell me everything."

She gave in, telling me about their chance meeting at a party and how, naturally, they had found each other again.

"How long has it been going on?"

"Since September."

"So he was your mysterious lover!"

"Yes, but keep it to yourself. We prefer to take it slow this time, especially after our first breakup."

"I understand."

She hesitated for a moment, her face tinting with worry.

"And you two? Where do you stand, you and Tristan?"

Wrapped in a warm blanket on the couch, I told her about our date the previous evening.

"I believe he's sincere when he says he didn't sleep with Audrey and that he loves me. He promised that if I gave him another chance, he would always make me his priority and wouldn't make the same mistake again. I... I want us to try again," I added softly. "Plus, there's also the baby..."

"You're having a baby?! That's fantastic! I'm so happy for you," she exclaimed.

My phone vibrated in the back pocket of my jeans. A notification from Tristan. Without suspicion, I unlocked the screen.

A photo appeared, brutal: Audrey, naked, nestled in a man's arms. His face remained out of frame, but that body, I knew it by heart. Tristan...

A violent pain exploded in my chest, cutting my breath.

My hands trembled so hard that the phone slipped and fell to the floor.

I was devastated. Tears slid down my cheeks without my being able to hold them back.

Why? Why was he doing this to me after all the promises he had just made?

Just as I was beginning to open my heart to him again?

Panicked, Leila picked up the phone and cursed when she discovered the photo.

Without a word, she drew me into her arms, holding me firmly against her as I sank into a second state.

I was beyond tears, emptied of all emotion, as if anesthetized by pain.

Leila remained there, silent, gently rocking me until exhaustion took over.

I woke early in the morning, still cuddled against Leila. We had ended up falling asleep on the couch.

"How are you feeling?" she asked gently.

"I'm okay..." I lied.

Leila took a breath before launching:

"Listen, I've been thinking a lot. None of this makes sense! Why would he do this? He's been fighting for days to get you back."

"You saw the photo," I protested weakly.

"Yes, but that's weird too. Why would he send you a photo? Even if he cheated on you, he would never be stupid or cruel enough to do that. From what I remember, you can't see his eyes, and the arm he has around her looks completely limp. She's the one embracing him, not the other way around."

I unlocked my phone and tried to look at the photo more objectively.

"They're in our home, on our couch," I said, my voice trembling.

"He definitely owes you explanations, but don't condemn him before you talk to him."

"You think it's a photoshop or a staged scene?"

"I don't know. In any case, he tried to call you several times at five in the morning. Listen to him before jumping to conclusions."

At that moment, my phone rang. I jumped and looked at the screen: an unknown number appeared. Who could be calling me at seven in the morning? A wave of anxiety rose within me without my knowing why. I took a trembling breath before answering.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Mercier? This is Saint-Joseph Hospital. We have a patient, Tristan de La Tour, who was admitted following a car accident. You are his emergency contact."

The world around me wavered. Leila, who was watching me, sat up abruptly seeing my face decompose.

"An... an accident?" I repeated in a trembling voice. "How is he?"

"He is still unconscious, but stable. He has several fractured ribs and a cerebral concussion. We would need more information about his medical history. Can you come to the intensive care unit?"

Leila placed a firm hand on my arm, her eyes filled with concern.

"Yes, I... I'm coming right away," I stammered before hanging up.

"What's happening?" asked Leila, face pale.

"Tristan... he had an accident. He's in the hospital," I explained, voice broken.

Leila rose precipitously, grabbing our coats and bags.

"Come on, let's go. I'll come with you."

I let myself be guided like an automaton, still stunned by the news. Leila hailed a taxi, helping me settle in the back. The journey to the hospital was made in heavy silence.

Upon arrival, we rushed inside.

"Eva Mercier... I'm here for Tristan de La Tour," I explained at reception. "I was called..."

The receptionist typed on her computer before answering me.

"Intensive care unit, second floor."

At the intensive care reception, the department secretary asked me some additional questions about Tristan, then we were invited to wait for the doctor's arrival. Leila and I exchanged a worried look while taking seats on the uncomfortable chairs in the waiting room.

At that moment, everything became clear. Whatever our differences, Tristan needed me. Everything else was secondary.