All Chapters of Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire: Chapter 101 - Chapter 110

The routine settled in faster than I expected. Mornings always started the same way—me waking before the alarm, rushing to the bathroom to fight off that stubborn wave of nausea that refused to leave, splashing cold water on my face, and brushing my teeth with a little too much determination, trying to erase any trace of it. Then came the job hunt—résumés sent, polite interviews ending with tight smiles and the usual empty promise of "we'll be in touch." And on the nights Christian was in Solara for business meetings—which, thankfully, had become more frequent lately—there was a fleeting sense of normalcy. A purpose. Something that almost felt like a real marriage. "It's getting late." Christian stretched his arms above his head, his shoulders cracking after hours bent over the papers scattered across the dining table. "I think we're done for tonight." I nodded, collecting the empty coffee cups. Christian had been sleeping at my apartment whenever he had work in Solara—an unspoke

Christian's POV "Absolutely not." My voice echoed through the conference room, louder than I'd meant it to. "These numbers don't make sense." Marcus, sitting to my right, rubbed a hand over his face, frustration mirroring my own. Across from us, on the massive video screen, three members of the Euradian board watched with expressions that hovered somewhere between boredom and disdain. "The numbers are clear, Mr. Kensington," said Vincent Caldwell, the eldest of the three, adjusting his reading glasses. "Projections show that the organic project will require an additional forty percent investment beyond the original budget to meet certification standards." "That's ridiculous." I flipped through the reports in front of me. "Our team conducted a detailed cost analysis. Organic certifications have fixed, well-documented fees." "Perhaps your team's estimates failed to consider all the variables," Caldwell said, his tone laced with condescension. I took a slow breath, forcing mys

I found Joseph in the private wine cellar, a space that felt almost sacred within the Kensington estate, reserved for the rarest and most precious bottles. The air was cool and perfectly controlled, carrying the rich scent of aged oak and old wine—a fragrance that seemed to hum with history. Stone walls lined with shelves held bottles worth more than luxury cars, a quiet testament to the family's legacy and pride.Joseph sat in an old leather armchair, the kind that had probably been there for decades, studying a dusty bottle under the soft amber light. Even at eighty-three, there was a commanding strength in his posture. His hands, weathered by time and work, cradled the bottle with the same reverence a priest might give to a relic. "Joseph?" I said gently, not wanting to startle him.He looked up, and his whole face brightened. The lines around his eyes deepened as he smiled, the kind of smile that carried a lifetime of warmth. "Ah, Zoey! Come, come. I want to show you somethin

When I returned to the party, the ballroom was in full swing. The orchestra played a gentle waltz, and several couples glided elegantly across the polished floor. My eyes found Christian immediately—as if there were some invisible radar tuned only to him. He stood with a group of older men, his posture composed, charming as ever, but his gaze kept drifting over the crowd, searching... for me. When he finally spotted me, his whole face changed. The cool, poised expression gave way to a smile so warm it made my heart trip over itself. Without even bothering to excuse himself properly, he crossed the room with determined grace. "I was starting to think my grandfather had kidnapped you," he said, his hand finding mine effortlessly. Our fingers intertwined, fitting together as if they'd been made for it. "Did he show you the 1947 vintage?" "He did." I smiled, still reeling a little from Joseph's revelation. "And we talked." Something in my face must've given me away, because Christi

We followed the stone path lined with lanterns that glowed softly against the night. The air was rich with the scent of ripe grapes and earth—an aroma I'd come to recognize and even crave in recent months. The moon, nearly full, cast a silvery glow over the endless rows of vines stretching across the hills, transforming the vineyard into something dreamlike. Christian walked beside me in silence, his hand brushing mine from time to time but never quite holding it. The tension in his posture was unmistakable—his shoulders tight, his jaw set. He had just been handed complete control of the Kensington empire, something most men would celebrate with champagne and a toast. But here he was, walking through the quiet vineyard with me, every step charged with the weight of unspoken things. The overlook came into view—a graceful structure of stone and wood perched at the vineyard's highest point. By day, it offered sweeping views of the estate; by night, it shimmered in moonlight, almost ot