Billionaire’s Twin Deception

Chapter 5

JANICE’S POV

The office is too quiet. No heat from the burners, no voices crashing together, no movement to disappear into.

I step inside anyway and close the door behind me, and instantly the room feels wrong, cold in that expensive controlled way that makes breathing too loudly feel like a mistake. Glass walls. Dark metal. Everything perfectly arranged.

Nothing here exists without a purpose. I understand that kind of control immediately. He’s already behind the desk watching me in that same quiet way he watched the kitchen. Like he sees too much.

I walk forward slowly, keeping my shoulders relaxed while tension crawls under my skin.

“Mr. Duncan.” My voice comes out calm. His eyes stay on me. “Chef Soto.”

That’s it. Two words, but the silence after them feels heavier than actual conversation. I look away first because something about holding his gaze too long feels dangerous.

My eyes move around the office instead, glass shelves, expensive furniture, nothing personal anywhere. No photos. No clutter. No proof someone actually lives here outside work.

Everything is controlled. Not through pressure like my kitchen. Through distance. And s**t, I recognize that immediately because it looks too much like me.

“You’ve been here four years,” he says finally, his voice low and steady.

“Yes.”

“Previous experience?”

“Hotels. Restaurants.”

He waits like he expects more. There isn’t more. Or maybe there is, but not for him. The silence stretches long enough to make the room feel smaller.

“You run a tight kitchen.” Something hot flickers low in my chest at that. Recognition maybe. Pride. I don’t know. “I run it the way it needs to be run.”

“That doesn’t leave room for mistakes.”

“It shouldn’t.”

His eyes narrow slightly, studying me harder now. “You don’t make mistakes.”

The words hit wrong. My throat tightens before I can stop it. Because if he knew the truth.

Jesus Christ. “I don’t allow them,” I say quietly, keeping my face still even while my pulse kicks harder against my ribs.

Silence settles between us again. I don’t break it. Neither does he. He keeps watching me like he’s trying to pull something out of me without touching me at all, and the worst part is I can feel myself reacting to it.

That pisses me off instantly. This is supposed to be simple. Boss. Employee. That’s it.

“Your staff respond quickly,” he says after another second.

“They’re trained to.”

“No hesitation.”

“No.” I fold my hands behind my back before he notices the tension in them. “Hesitation destroys kitchens.”

Or lives.

The thought slips through me quietly and suddenly my chest feels too tight again. His fingers tap lightly against the desk once. Controlled movement. Controlled man.

“You maintain control under pressure.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

The question lands harder than the others. Too direct. Too personal. For one horrible second, my chest feels tight enough to c***k open because the real answer is fear.

Fear of losing everything. Fear of failing. Fear of watching somebody die while I stand there useless. I swallow hard before forcing my voice steady. “By not letting things fall apart.”

His eyes stay locked on mine longer this time, and suddenly something shifts painfully inside me. Bright hospital lights flash through my head. Too white. Too cold.

Chloe’s fingers trembling in mine while machines beeped around us loud enough to drive me f*****g insane.

I shut the memory down immediately before it destroys me standing here. But it’s already too late.

“You have to do this for me, Janie.” Chloe’s voice comes back so clearly it almost steals the air from my lungs.

“Chloe…… stop talking like that.” My voice had shaken so badly back then. “You’re gonna be okay, you just need rest, the doctors said—”

“Stop.” Her fingers tightened painfully around mine. “You know I’m not okay.” Every word sounded weaker than the last. “And you know he won’t survive this right now.”

I remember staring at her, terrified and angry all at once because what the hell was I supposed to do with that? What was I supposed to do with losing her?

“He deserves the truth.”

“And I deserve peace.” Tears filled her eyes then, and seeing Chloe cry always broke something inside me. “Please.”

“He’s fragile, Janie,” she whispered, breathing harder after every sentence. “More than he shows. The business, his father’s death…… all of it. He’s holding on by a thread.”

I started crying before I even realized it. “Then we get him help,” I whispered desperately. “We figure something else out, Chloe, there has to be another f*****g way—”

“There’s no time for that.” She coughed. And I saw blood. “Promise me. Just until he’s stable. Just long enough that the shock doesn’t……”

She couldn’t even finish the sentence. I knew that promise would ruin everything. I knew it. But she looked at me with our mother’s eyes, terrified and dying and still trying to protect somebody else.

And I broke. “I promise,” I whispered. Chloe smiled after that. Heartbreaking.

“You’re stronger than me,” she whispered softly. “You always were.”

Two hours later, she was dead and my whole life became a lie.

“You’ve built something strong.” Eden’s voice pulls me back so suddenly my chest tightens hard.

For half a second, I just stare at him because the words don’t sound like praise. They sound like recognition.

“Thank you,” I almost say. Instead I nod once because I don’t trust my own voice right now. He leans back slightly, still watching me carefully. “You don’t seem concerned about the ownership change.”

“I focus on my kitchen.”

“Not the rest of the hotel?”

“No.”

“That’s short-sighted.”

I feel irritation spark instantly. “No,” I say quietly, meeting his eyes fully now. “It’s necessary.”

His gaze sharpens at that. “Explain.”

The way he says things makes them sound like commands without raising his voice once. I hate how much I notice that.

“If I start focusing on everything outside my control,” I say slowly, exhaustion pressing heavier into my chest now, “then eventually I lose control of what matters.”

A pause.

“That’s not how most people think.”

A humorless laugh almost escapes me. “You’re right.” My voice comes out rougher now, softer around the edges. “I’m not most people.”

The silence after that feels different. Less professional. More dangerous. Because it feels like he’s looking past my answers instead of listening to them, and I don’t know how much longer I can stop him from seeing something underneath them.

The air shifts slightly when he leans forward. I feel it immediately.

“You avoid distractions,” he says.

“Yes.”

“You avoid people too?” The question catches me off guard hard enough that my stomach tightens.

Too direct, personal. “I focus on work.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I hold his gaze anyway even while my heartbeat starts climbing again. “That’s still my answer.”

Another silence. Neither of us looks away, and suddenly the whole office feels too small.

Too f*****g intense. I hate how aware I am of him sitting across from me. I hate that my body recognizes something my brain keeps rejecting.

Before I can stop myself, my eyes flick around the office again. “You don’t keep anything personal here.”

His gaze follows mine once. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s not relevant.” The answer lands harder than it should because it sounds exactly like something I’d say.

Same distance. Same emotional walls. Same lonely kind of control.

He leans forward slightly after that, decision settling across his face. “I’ll be spending time in your kitchen.”

Not a question. A statement.

My stomach twists hard enough to almost hurt. Because suddenly this feels dangerous in a completely different way.

Not because he’s my boss. Not because he’s watching me. Because proximity has always been our problem. And if Eden Duncan keeps stepping into my space like this, eventually something is going to break.