Billionaire’s Twin Deception

Chapter 14

EDEN'S POV

I spend the entire night staring at dates.

The photograph sits on my desk, Jack's birthday sits beside it, the timeline lives inside my head and the numbers refuse to stop matching.

Every time I find a reason to dismiss the possibility, another detail drags me right back.

That's what I keep telling myself that it's just a coincidence and the problem is I don't believe it anymore.

By three in the morning I'm still awake, by four I'm recalculating dates I've already calculated ten times and by five the city begins waking outside my windows while I remain exactly where I started.

Staring, thinking, failing because every road leads back to the same place.

Jack, the possibility sits heavily inside my chest.

I grab the photograph again and study it longer.

The date remains exactly the same, numbers remain exactly the same and nothing changes no matter how many times I look.

I set the photograph down, pick up the worksheet, then reach for the photograph again like somehow the answer will be different this time but it never is.

The next morning Richard takes one look at me and immediately sighs.

"Oh no."

I glance up from my coffee. "What?"

"You look worse than yesterday."

"I didn't sleep."

"No kidding."

He sits on a chair across from my desk and studies me for several seconds, finally he asks, "Do you think the kid is yours?"

The question lands like a punch.

Silence stretches between us before I finally lean back in my chair.

"I don't know."

Richard goes completely still because that answer means more than yes ever could.

His expression changes, the kind that only appears when someone realizes a situation is becoming much bigger than expected.

"Eden." I look away.

"Don't."

"You need to think carefully."

"I am thinking carefully."

"That's the problem."

The answer irritates me because he sounds exactly like someone watching a train heading toward a cliff.

Neither of us says anything for a moment then Richard stands.

"You need sleep."

"I need answers."

"You might not like them."

The door closes behind him and unfortunately I already know that.

The rest of the day becomes an exercise in proving myself wrong.

That's the goal, not proving Jack is my son but proving he isn't.

I search for reasons the timing doesn't work, reasons the theory falls apart and reasons Janice couldn't possibly have hidden something that big.

Every explanation collapses and every answer creates another question.

By afternoon frustration has settled permanently under my skin and I end up standing near the hotel café reviewing reports I haven't actually read.

People walk past, employees greet me, phones ring, and conversations unfold around me, yet I barely notice any of it because every time my thoughts drift, they drift back to the same place.

Jack appears in my thoughts again.

The way he crosses his arms, the stubborn look that appears whenever someone disagrees with him, the endless questions, the curiosity, and his refusal to let anything go are all little things that shouldn't matter, yet they matter anyway.

I hate it because once I notice them, I can't stop noticing them.

Later that afternoon I walk through the lobby and catch sight of Jack sitting behind the reception desk drawing dinosaurs while waiting for Janice.

One of the receptionists is pretending to be terrified of a crayon T-Rex.

Jack is winning obviously and I find myself smiling before I realize it.

The moment disappears quickly because I notice that too.

Later that evening service finally ends and the kitchen slowly empties around me.

Celine leaves, Chan leaves and the noise fades.

Only Janice remains standing near the prep station reviewing inventory sheets.

For a moment I simply watch her.

Five years ago that would've felt normal, now it feels dangerous.

Still, I walk over and Janice notices. "You work too much."

She doesn't even look up. "So do you."

Silence follows then I ask quietly, "Why did you leave?"

The inventory sheet stills beneath her fingers and slowly she looks up.

"That's not a work question."

"No."

"It isn't."

The words hang between us.

Neither of us moves or looks away.

For years I wanted answers and carried anger, now all I feel is confusion.

"I never understood why you disappeared."

Something changes in her expression.

"You think it was easy?"

Her voice comes out softer than expected.

"I don't know."

"That's the problem."

The answer hits harder because she's right.

I don't know what happened after she left, I don't know what she carried, I don't know what she sacrificed.

I only know my side and for the first time that feels incomplete.

Janice looks away briefly before speaking again. "You think you were the only one hurt?"

The question catches me off guard not because of the words but because of the pain behind them.

For a second she looks tired then the expression disappears again like it was never there.

The distance between us weakens slightly because of pain. Shared pain and old wounds neither of us ever healed properly.

Janice looks away first and I can almost see the words trapped behind her eyes and whatever she's been carrying all this time.

For one dangerous second I think she's finally going to tell me instead she closes the door again.

"I should get home."

The moment disappears and I let her leave because forcing answers has never worked.