All Chapters of Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire: Chapter 181 - Chapter 190

Time seemed to slow the moment my eyes locked on Elise. She sat in a hospital wheelchair, her legs motionless beneath a pale blue blanket that couldn't hide the brutal truth of her condition. Her hair that was once perfectly styled and glossy, hung limp and tangled around her face. The woman who used to walk into every room radiating control and confidence now looked hollow, her skin pale, her eyes ringed with deep shadows that spoke of pain, sleepless nights, and humiliation. My heart raced not from fear, but from something darker and far more complex. Shock. Vindication. A twisted sense of satisfaction I hadn't known I was capable of feeling. It was as if all the sleepless nights, all the tears, all the pain she'd caused me had somehow been acknowledged by the universe. She tried to move the wheelchair, fumbling with the controls in a frantic attempt to turn away, but Alex who was standing behind her with an exhausted and resigned expression, kept a steady grip on the handles,

The days that followed the confrontation at the hospital passed in a strange, muted haze of paperwork and quiet routines. It was almost unsettling how life managed to keep moving forward, as if the universe itself insisted on reminding us that bills still had to be paid, meals still had to be made, and morning coffee still needed brewing—no matter how much had changed. Joseph recovered remarkably well from his cardiac episode, though Dr. Mendez was adamant about a full week of rest. Most afternoons, we kept him company in the library—his favorite room in the house. Surrounded by shelves of well-loved books and with a clear view of the rolling vineyards, it had become his refuge. He liked to sit by the wide windows, a blanket over his legs, saying the green calm of the vines helped him breathe easier. "I always knew Lawrence had flaws," he said one quiet morning, a steaming cup of espresso in his hands. "But I never thought he'd be capable of something like this… of endangering his

The morning of Matt's discharge began long before sunrise. I'd woken up several times during the night, checking the clock, counting the hours until I could finally take my baby home. Christian slept fitfully beside me, just as restless, and by the time the alarm went off at six, we'd both already been awake for at least an hour. At the hospital, the final procedures seemed to take forever. Dr. Porter went over every one of Matt's tests, checked his weight, tested his reflexes, and once again explained all the precautions we'd need to take at home. Every instruction mattered, but my heart was beating so hard with anticipation that I had to ask him to repeat a few things. "He's perfect," the doctor finally said with a smile as he signed the discharge papers. "A healthy baby who just needed a little extra time to get stronger." When they finally placed Matt in my arms, dressed in his very first outfit for home, tears of pure joy streamed down my face It a pale blue onesie that Chri

Matt's routine checkup had gone better than I expected. Dr. Porter seemed genuinely pleased with his progress, confirming that he was gaining weight just right and that all his reflexes were perfect for his corrected age. It was always such a relief to hear that my little fighter was getting stronger every day. "He's absolutely perfect," the pediatrician said, handing Matt back to me after the exam. "Keep doing exactly what you've been doing until the next appointment." A deep wave of relief washed over me. Even though I knew Matt was doing well, there was always that quiet, nagging worry that only eased once a doctor confirmed everything was fine. I kissed his tiny forehead, breathing in that sweet baby scent I never seemed to get enough of. Leaving the office, I carried Matt in his car seat toward the waiting area, expecting to find Richard, Christian's security guard, who he insisted accompany me anytime I left the house. It was a precaution I'd resisted at first. After all, t

The abandoned warehouse reeked of mold and machine oil. It was a nauseating mix that made my stomach twist even worse than it already was. Matt had finally stopped crying, worn out from the stress, but I could feel the tension radiating from his tiny body as he lay in his stroller beside me. Even as small as he was, he seemed to sense that something was terribly wrong. Lawrence paced near the entrance, glancing now and then at his watch before peering through the grimy window that overlooked the dirt road outside. He looked nothing like the polished, well-groomed man I'd seen at family events. His hair was disheveled, his beard was uneven, and his clothes were wrinkled and stained. It was clear that weeks on the run had taken their toll. "You must be hungry," he said suddenly, turning toward me and motioning to a paper bag resting on a makeshift table of wooden crates. "I brought sandwiches." I stared at him in disbelief. "I'm not eating anything you give me," I said coldly. "I