Lahat ng Kabanata ng Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire: Kabanata 651 - Kabanata 660

Gwen's POV Going back to work had to happen slowly. Much slower than I wanted. Infinitely slower than I was used to. The first week after I was discharged, I could barely sit at my desk for more than two hours before I had to lie down. My ribs protested every breath. The immobilized arm made everything harder. The fatigue came in unpredictable waves that hit without warning. Frustrating wasn’t even a strong enough word. But by the second week, something shifted. My mind was finally sharp again, even if my body refused to keep up. And that was torture. I could think clearly. Analyze. Plan. Strategize. My brain was back to full power. But physically executing anything? Impossible without pain. Christian tried to send me home three times just on Monday. "You are literally pale," he argued, standing in my office doorway with a worried look. "Go home and rest." "I am resting," I lied shamelessly, typing up a report one-handed. "I’m sitting. See? Resting." He rolled h

Renee's POV For one very brief moment, the ground disappeared beneath my feet. I stared at the folder. At the documents. At the words jumping off the page like accusations screamed in bold ink. Investigation. Trafficking. Courier. Suspect. My heart slammed against my ribs. My hands went cold. How? How did they get this? That had been buried. Filed away. Locked inside bureaucratic drawers no one was supposed to access. And yet there it was. Sitting in front of me. Thrown in my face by Princess Kensington with that infuriatingly superior expression. But then, just as quickly, instinct kicked in. My mind started working again. Investigation. Not conviction. Suspect. Not proof. Closed. Due to lack of evidence. And I started to laugh. "You do realize this is worth absolutely nothing, right?" I said once I caught my breath. Gwen looked at me with that icy composure. "You were a courier," she said as if it were an established fact. "No sane judge would grant cu

Gwen's POV I didn't tell him I was coming. I just got in my car Friday morning, told Dante to handle anything urgent, and drove straight to Montelira. To the estate. Parts of the property were almost unrecognizable. Metal scaffolding wrapped around the wing damaged by the fire. Blue tarps covered sections of the roof. Men in yellow helmets moved back and forth carrying materials, operating machinery. The sound of power saws and pneumatic drills echoed through hills that were usually quiet. And yet it was still familiar. Deeply familiar. The vineyards were as green and perfectly aligned as ever, endless rows stretching in clean geometric patterns. The scent of warm earth and ripening grapes filled the air. The Castorian sky arched wide and blue above everything, indifferent to the human chaos below. It was beautiful here. It always had been. I parked near the main house, in the part untouched by the fire. I turned off the engine and sat there for a moment, breathing. B

Gwen's POV The Kensington legal department's conference room was intimidating by design. A long table of polished dark mahogany. Black leather chairs that were just rigid enough to discourage emotional outbursts. An entire wall of glass overlooking Florentia, as if the city itself were a quiet reminder that inside this room, the world ran on rules. The opposite wall was lined with shelves of Italian legal codes, bound and aligned with almost aggressive precision. Three attorneys sat across from me. Julia March, family law, sharp-eyed in a way that suggested she'd seen every kind of domestic war imaginable. Marcus Ross, asset protection, carrying the clinical calm of someone who could turn panic into clauses. Leonardo Cross, coordinating everything, thin-framed glasses and a voice that sounded like it had been built to say, "This is incontestable." Christian sat at my side. Relaxed posture. Absolute attention. As always, even when he pretended not to be invested. I sat str

Gwen's POV The second I stepped out of the legal conference room, the word pregnant echoing in every corner of my mind, I was already walking down the hallway with my phone in my hand, my heart beating too fast for a body that had almost died a few weeks ago. I couldn't tell Nick in the middle of household chaos. I couldn't just toss out "I'm pregnant" the way you say "we're out of milk." And more than anything… I needed to see it. I needed proof with my own eyes. Paper. A stamp. A number. Because fear has a cruel way of whispering, what if it's a mistake? And hope, once it's been broken, learns to walk carefully. I asked my assistant to reschedule whatever she could. I called my doctor. They squeezed me in. The hospital smelled like disinfectant and anxiety. That alone was enough to turn my stomach. Reception. Signature. Wristband. Those automatic steps where you become a patient before you're a person. They ran the tests. I waited. In the waiting room, I sta