The Cold Billionaire's Hidden Twins

CHAPTER 8

“Lunch. Now.” Tristan didn’t slow as he delivered the order, already shrugging into his coat, phone pressed to his ear. The words were tossed over his shoulder like an afterthought, as if Victoria had already anticipated them.

She hadn’t.

“Sir—?” She stood quickly, grabbing her tablet and bag in one smooth motion. “Your calendar shows—”

“Cancel it,” he said, cutting her off. “We’re meeting the Harrington Group in fifteen minutes.” Fifteen. Victoria’s pulse spiked. “Their offices are across town.”

“We’re not going to their offices,” Tristan replied. “We’re meeting at Virello.”

Of course they were. One of the most exclusive restaurants in the city. Of course it was last-minute. Of course it was urgent. Victoria sighed, she was already moving. “I’ll notify them we’re en route.”

“You’ll come,” he added, ending the call and finally looking at her. “They want continuity.” Continuity meant optics. It meant control. “Yes, sir,” she said, already typing as they walked.

The elevator ride down was silent and tight. Tristan stood with his hands in his pockets, gaze fixed ahead. Victoria reviewed notes on her tablet, heels clicking nervously against the polished floor as she adjusted her pace to match his. She barely had time to breathe. They exited the building into a waiting car. Victoria slid in beside him, still typing, firing off confirmations, apologizing professionally for the short notice. “Relax,” Tristan said coolly. “They’ll wait.” “They always do,” she replied without thinking. He glanced at her sharply. She kept her eyes on the screen.

Virello was already humming when they arrived—low voices, clinking glasses, the quiet confidence of wealth that never worried about time. The hostess recognized Tristan immediately, offering a polite smile that bordered on reverence. “Mr. Moore. Your table is ready.”

The lunch meeting unfolded exactly as Tristan intended. He was charming in a way that unsettled people—cool, measured, never raising his voice, yet somehow dominating every exchange. Victoria sat slightly behind him, listening, observing, sliding documents across the table at the precise moment they were needed. She caught subtle cues now. A shift in his posture meant he wanted data. A pause meant he wanted silence. When he leaned back, the conversation was over.

The Harrington executives left smiling and uneasy in equal measure. “Excellent timing,” one of them said to Victoria as they stood. “You keep him running on schedule.” She smiled politely. “Someone has to.” Tristan didn’t react. When the men finally left, Victoria felt the tension drain slightly from her shoulders. She gathered her tablet, already reviewing follow-ups. “Excuse me,” she said quietly. “I’ll be right back.” Tristan nodded absently, attention on his phone.

Victoria made her way toward the powder room, weaving through the narrow hallway lined with framed black-and-white photographs. She pushed open the door, grateful for the quiet, and splashed cool water on her wrists. “Victoria?” She froze. The voice was familiar—too familiar. She turned slowly. “Daniel,” she said, surprise flickering across her face.

Daniel Harris stood near the sinks, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, a smile tugging at his mouth. He looked older than she remembered, but the warmth in his eyes was the same. “It is you,” he said, laughing softly. “I thought I was imagining things.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Lunch meeting,” he replied. “Same as you, apparently.” His gaze softened. “It’s been a long time.” “Yes,” she said quietly. “It has.” “How have you been?” She hesitated, then gave the safest answer. “Busy.”

Daniel nodded, as if he understood far more than she’d said. “You disappeared after graduation. I tried to find you.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry.” “No,” he replied gently. “I figured you had your reasons.” The words tugged at something uncomfortable in her chest. “You look… tired,” he added. She smiled faintly. “That’s one word for it.”

They stood there for a moment, suspended between what was and what could never be again. “I’m glad you’re okay,” Daniel said finally. “So am I,” she replied. They shared a brief, quiet smile. And then Victoria felt it. The weight of a gaze.

She turned slightly, her reflection catching the edge of the doorway. Tristan stood just outside the hall, phone lowered, eyes fixed on them. Unmoving. Unreadable. Her stomach tightened. “Daniel,” she said softly, stepping back. “I should get back.”

“Of course,” he said. “It was good to see you, Vic.” She paused at the nickname—an echo from another life—then nodded once and walked past Tristan without a word.

The car ride back was silent. Not the controlled, professional silence Victoria had grown used to—but something sharper. Taut. Tristan didn’t speak until they were halfway across the bridge. “Who was that?” he asked, eyes fixed on the road.

She kept her gaze forward. “An old colleague.”

“From where?”

“College.”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “And you just happened to run into him?” “Yes.” The word landed like a challenge.

Tristan exhaled slowly. “Is he another one of your exes?” The accusation startled her. She turned to him. “Excuse me?” “You heard me.”

Her pulse spiked. “My personal life isn’t relevant to my job.” He glanced at her sharply. “You made it relevant when you brought it into a professional setting.”

“I didn’t,” she said tightly. “I went to the restroom.”

“And found a former lover?”

Her chest burned. “You’re making assumptions.”

“That’s what happens when people disappear without explanation,” he snapped. “Others fill in the gaps.”

The words struck deeper than she expected. She folded her hands in her lap, forcing calm into her voice. “You don’t get to interrogate me.” “I do when it affects my image,” he said coldly. “Talking to someone in a hallway affects your image?” she shot back. “Or is it something else that bothers you?”

Silence fell. Tristan’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Don’t turn this around on me,” he said. “I’m not,” she replied. “I’m setting boundaries.” He laughed quietly, without humor. “Boundaries. You were never good at those.”

Her breath caught. “That’s not fair.” “Neither was leaving,” he said. The car slowed at a red light. Victoria turned fully toward him now, anger cutting through the fatigue. “You don’t know why I left.”

“You never told me,” he replied flatly. “You never asked,” she said.

His gaze flicked to hers, sharp and incredulous. “I spent months trying to find you.”

“And I spent years trying to survive,” she said quietly.

The light turned green. Tristan drove on, silence crashing back into place. When they reached the office, he parked without another word. Victoria unbuckled her seatbelt, heart racing. “Tristan,” she said before she could stop herself. He paused. “This,” she continued, gesturing vaguely between them, “can’t happen. Whatever this is.”

He looked at her then—really looked at her. “There is no this,” he said coldly. “You’re my assistant. Don’t forget that.” She nodded once. “I won’t.” They exited the car separately.

But as Tristan walked ahead, jaw tight, something twisted painfully in his chest—sharp, irrational, unwelcome. Jealousy. He didn’t know why it was there. He only knew it made him angrier than he had any right to be. And Victoria Blair, walking a careful distance behind him, felt the tremor of that anger like a warning. Some lines, once crossed, could never be uncrossed again.