Billionaire's Mistake

Undercover

CHAPTER FIVE

Paris, Three Years Later

MAYA GRAYSON

Sunlight poured through the open curtains, washing the scratched wooden floor of my Paris hotel suite in a warm glow. I stood barefoot by the big windows, holding a chipped mug of tea that had gone cold. Down below, the city buzzed—cars honked, people laughed, street vendors shouted about their pastries. But my head wasn’t here. It was stuck somewhere else, caught in a mess of old hurts and new fights.

The news wouldn’t let up. “Maya Grayson’s Back.” “The Quiet Mogul Strikes.” “Big Deal in Paris.” Every headline felt like a jab, reminding the world I wasn’t Jeremy’s wife anymore. Three years ago, I’d ditched that name, clawed back *Maya Grayson* like it was something I’d lost. But it didn’t feel like winning. Not when Jeremy’s shadow still hung over me like a bad dream.

A loud knock broke the quiet.

My hand tightened on the mug, nearly breaking it. Only Annie, my assistant, and my security guys could get to this floor. Annie was across town, not back for an hour. I set the mug down, the clink loud in the still room, and tiptoed to the door, my stomach twisting.

“Who’s there?” I called, keeping my voice steady even though my heart was racing.

A pause, heavy like a stone. Then a voice, low and familiar, cut through. “It’s Julian. Just need a minute.”

My breath caught. *Julian?*

I opened the door a c***k, just enough to see him. He stood there, looking sharper than I remembered—black turtleneck, grey coat hanging off his shoulders, dark hair neat. His eyes had a tired look, like he was carrying something heavy.

“Julian?” My voice shook a little, giving me away.

He nodded once, quick. “Can I come in?”

I didn’t move right away. Last time I saw him was at my wedding, standing next to Jeremy as best man, looking at me like he wanted to say something but didn’t. Three years had changed him, made him seem harder, maybe dangerous in a quiet way.

“Ten minutes,” I said, stepping back. “Make it fast.”

He walked in, his boots tapping the floor, eyes scanning the room—the fancy couch, the Eiffel Tower outside the window. I stayed by the door, arms crossed, my heart pounding like it wanted out.

“I saw you in L.A.,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Three years ago, by the cab.”

He stopped, turning to look at me, his jaw tight. “You weren’t supposed to see me.”

“So you were following me?” My words came out sharp.

“Not following.” His voice was calm, like he’d practiced it. “Watching. Making sure you were okay.”

I tilted my head, not buying it. “Why would you care?”

He walked to a small table, his fingers brushing a picture of me and Annie laughing on a beach in Capri. “Because I owed you,” he said, quiet but heavy. “And because I couldn’t stand watching him break you.”

My throat got tight, memories hitting hard—Jeremy’s lies, Uriel’s fake crying, the divorce papers I signed with shaky hands. “You don’t know what he did,” I snapped, looking away so he wouldn’t see my eyes burn.

“I know enough.” His words were soft but hit like a fist.

The room went quiet, just the faint hum of the city outside. I wanted to yell, to ask why he gave a damn when no one else did, but his voice—steady, sure—kept me still.

He turned, his eyes locking on mine. “I set up the Paris deal.”

My heart jumped. “What?”

“The money, the security, the people you’re working with.” He stepped closer, his voice low. “That was me. I used fake companies, hid my tracks. They didn’t know it was me. But without me, they wouldn’t have given you a shot. Jeremy bad-mouthed you to every big player from here to L.A.”

The air felt heavy, like it was pressing me down. “Why?” My voice broke. “Why stick your neck out?”

He didn’t blink. “Because he doesn’t get to win.”

I crossed my arms tighter, my nails digging in. “This isn’t you feeling sorry for me, is it? I don’t need that.”

“No.” His voice was quiet but firm. “It’s because you were always bigger than his shadow. You just needed a chance to show it.”

I stared at him, my head spinning. Julian was always the quiet guy, hanging back in Jeremy’s world, watching more than talking. But now, standing here, he felt different—sharp, like a knife waiting to be drawn.

Then it clicked. The picture in the news yesterday, all over the papers. Me getting out of a car, some guy holding an umbrella over me. His face was blurry, but the turtleneck, the way he stood—it was him.

“You were in that photo,” I said, my voice barely there. “Yesterday, by the car. That was you.”

He didn’t say no, just held my eyes. “I told you. I’ve been looking out for you.”

My heart raced, and a memory hit me like a slap. The night I left Jeremy, three years back, my phone lit up with a text from a number I didn’t know: *You can’t hide, Maya. Meet me tomorrow, or everyone knows what you did. – R*. It scared me, made me think someone knew my secrets, pushed me to keep running.

I stepped closer, my hands shaking. “That text, the night I left. ‘You can’t hide, Maya.’ Was that you?”

He froze, his eyes flicking with something—guilt, maybe, or just surprise.

---

The room went dead quiet, my question hanging like a noose. Before he could say anything, a loud knock came from the bedroom door across the suite.

I spun around, my heart in my throat. “Annie?”

Nothing.

One of my security guys pushed through the door, his face white, holding a phone. “Miss Grayson,” he said, his voice tight. “Someone broke into Annie’s apartment twenty minutes ago.”

My stomach dropped. “Is she okay?”

“She wasn’t there. But they left this.”

He shoved the phone at me. I grabbed it, my hands trembling, and looked at the screen. My wedding photo, ripped in half. My side was burned, the edges black and curled.

Julian took the phone, his jaw locked so tight I thought it’d break. “This is him. It’s a warning.”

My throat burned, my eyes stinging with anger and fear. “Why now?” I whispered, my voice cracking.

Julian’s eyes met mine, hard and fierce. “Because you’re winning, Maya. And he’s falling apart.”

I stepped back, my head a mess. The photo, the deal, Julian’s secrets—it was too much. I wanted to scream, to run, to hit something. Jeremy thought he’d crushed me. He was wrong.

“Who are you, Julian?” I asked, my voice raw. “Really?”

He came closer, close enough I could smell the woodsy hint of his cologne. “I’m the guy who’s had your back since you walked away.”

I looked into his eyes, searching for a lie, but all I saw was fire—steady, real. My gut said trust him, but my heart, scarred and bruised, said hold back.

He held out his hand, steady as rock. “Come with me. I’ll tell you everything. But we gotta go.”

I stared at his hand, my heart pounding. Run or fight? Hide or hit back? I didn’t know what Julian was—friend, hero, or something worse. But I knew Jeremy wasn’t winning this.

I grabbed his hand, my grip tight.

He pulled me past the sunlit window, out of the suite, into the dark hallway. His steps were sure, lik

e he already had a plan. My head was a war—half ready to bolt, half ready to burn Jeremy’s world to the ground.