Billionaire’s Twin Deception

Chapter 2

EDEN’S POV

The car stops on Fifth Avenue in front of The Grand Sterling Hotel, and I don’t move at first.

I just sit there looking up at the glass and stone building glowing beneath the morning light, expensive in that polished effortless way rich places always try to be.

It should feel solid. Instead, something feels off immediately. People move in and out too fast. Staff at the entrance smile too hard like they’re already scared of screwing up before I even walk through the damn doors.

I step out. Cold air hits my face sharply, but the second I walk inside, everything changes. Warm. Quiet. Controlled.

The lobby smells like expensive flowers and fresh coffee, but underneath it, tension hangs in the air thick enough to notice.

Fake calm. That’s what this is. “First impressions?” Richard asks beside me, his voice casual, but I know him too well. He’s already watching me closely, probably trying to figure out whether today’s going to be manageable or a complete disaster.

My gaze moves across the lobby again, catching every little thing that shouldn’t be there.

A guest waiting too long. A receptionist checking the same screen twice. Bell staff straightening the second they notice me. Tiny mistakes. Tiny mistakes become bigger ones fast.

“It looks good,” I say finally. “But it’s not running the way it should.” Richard lets out a quiet breath. “You’ve been here ten seconds.”

“That’s enough.” Because you can tell a lot about a place from the way people move inside it, and this place is nervous.

The second I start walking, the atmosphere shifts again. Staff stiffen. Smiles tighten. Someone nearly bumps into another employee trying to move out of my way too quickly.

Damn, I hate that. A manager rushes toward me with the same fake polished smile already waiting on his face. “Mr. Duncan, welcome. We’re honored to—”

I don’t stop walking. “If this is how your front line performs during peak hours,” I cut in calmly, “then we have a much bigger problem than I thought.”

The smile disappears instantly. Good. At least that reaction’s real. “They know you’re here,” Richard murmurs as we pass the front desk.

“They shouldn’t need to.” My eyes catch another employee panic-fixing their posture. “If things work properly, they work without me standing over them.”

Richard nods once but doesn’t argue. Smart choice. We step into the elevator, and the noise disappears behind closed doors, leaving only silence and my reflection staring back at me from the mirrored walls.

For one second, everything slows. Then it hits. Bright hospital lights. Too white. A weak hand shaking in mine while fingers slowly slip away.

Then her voice. I can’t remember the exact words anymore, and honestly, that pisses me off more than it should. Five years later and grief still cuts into me out of nowhere.

My jaw locks hard enough to hurt. I force it down immediately because I don’t do this anymore. I don’t lose control over memories that can’t be changed.

“Eden.” Richard’s voice cuts through the silence. I blink once. “I’m fine.” His expression says he doesn’t believe me for a second. “Of course you are.”

The elevator doors open before I answer, and just like that, the feeling gets shoved back where it belongs.

The office floor is quieter than the lobby, but the tension’s still here. Conversations stop too fast when I walk by. People straighten immediately. Everyone’s reacting instead of functioning naturally.

I hate that s**t. “They’ve been adjusting since the acquisition announcement,” Richard says as we walk. “Trying to match what they think you’ll expect.”

“That’s exactly the problem.” My voice comes out flatter now. “They’re thinking too much instead of doing their jobs.”

Richard glances sideways at me. “You ever think maybe you scare the hell out of people?”

“Yes.” That earns a short laugh out of him. At least someone here still acts normal.

“Eden.” Amara steps into our path smoothly, dressed perfectly as always, calm in that sharp corporate way she’s mastered over the years. “We should talk before you meet department heads,” she says carefully. “People are already forming opinions about you.”

“I’m not here to manage opinions.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. “Public image still matters.” I stop walking then, finally looking directly at her. “I don’t care about appearances,” I say evenly. “I care about fixing what’s broken.”

For a second, neither of us speaks. Then Amara nods slowly. “Fine. Then we make sure the building still looks stable while you do that.”

I don’t answer because honestly, that sounds like her problem. Richard opens my office door. I walk in quietly and immediately notice what’s missing.

Nothing personal. No photographs. No decorations. No sign an actual person exists here outside work.

Good. That’s how I prefer it. The personnel file sits in the center of my desk waiting for me. Grand Sterling Hotel — Personnel Records.

My hand hovers over it briefly before pulling back. Richard notices immediately because of course he does. “You could delegate that,” he says carefully.

I could. But I don’t. Files like these contain more than numbers. They contain histories. Faces. Names. And sometimes a single name still has the power to ruin your whole damn day.

Five years of distance. Five years of keeping everything locked down tight enough that nothing gets through. Five years since—I open the file before my brain finishes the thought.

My eyes scan automatically, searching for staffing issues, inconsistencies, inefficiencies.

Then I see it.

A name.

Janice Soto — Head Chef.

My chest tightens so fast it almost feels physical.

Shit. It’s not her, obviously. Different name. Different woman. But something about it still hits wrong anyway. For one second, I’m back in that hospital room waiting for eyes to open that never did.

The grief still pisses me off. Not because it exists. Because it survived me. I close the file harder than I mean to.

“Eden?” Richard’s voice pulls me back again. I look up immediately, expression already blank again. “It’s fine,” I say shortly. “Schedule the kitchen inspection first.”

“You sure?”

No. But I nod anyway. We leave the office a few minutes later. “Kitchen first?” Richard asks casually. That word hits differently than it should.

Kitchen.

Something shifts low in my chest again, quieter this time but still there, settling under my skin in a way I don’t like.

Damn it. It shouldn’t matter. It’s just another department. “Something wrong?” Richard asks carefully.

“No.” The answer comes too fast. I slow it down. “No.” We take the service elevator instead of the main one because I don’t need people performing for me.

I need to see how things run when nobody’s pretending. The doors open, and heat hits me first.

Then noise follows immediately after, voices crossing over each other while metal clashes down the line and oil snaps loudly from the pans.

The kitchen moves in fast controlled chaos. This place feels alive in a way the rest of the building doesn’t.

Real instead of polished. Honest instead of fake. And immediately, everything sharpens.

The staff are tense, but the line still moves. Orders still flow. Nobody freezes even with management standing there watching them.

Interesting. Upstairs felt unstable. This doesn’t. I stand near the entrance and watch a little longer. Under all the heat, pressure, and noise, something is holding this kitchen together.

“That’s not panic,” I murmur quietly. Richard follows my line of sight. “No,” he says after a second. “That’s control.”

Exactly. Not forced. Not breaking. Someone is holding this place together, and suddenly, for the first time since walking into this building, I’m interested.

Really interested. I don’t interrupt or move closer. I just watch the line because whoever’s running this kitchen understands pressure in a way most people don’t.

And for some reason, that feeling in my chest shifts again, tight and wrong in a way that feels dangerously familiar. I turn slightly, my attention still fixed ahead. “Who runs the kitchen?”