All Chapters of Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire: Chapter 331 - Chapter 340

The Kensington mansion in the hills of Southridge had never felt as welcoming as it did in that moment. Even after so many months living in London, the sight of the family estate nestled among green mountains and lush vineyards filled me with a wave of nostalgic longing I hadn't even realized I'd been carrying. The cool, clean mountain air wrapped around me like an embrace when we stepped out of the car, a sharp contrast to the urban atmosphere we'd left behind in London. Ginger was completely mesmerized by the new smells and sounds around her. Her dark little eyes darted everywhere, trying to take in the symphony of singing birds, leaves whispering in the gentle breeze, and scents that were nothing like what she knew. She tugged lightly at the leash, eager to explore every inch of this new territory, which must have felt like pure canine heaven compared to London's city parks. "Mom! Dad!" I shouted the moment I saw my parents coming out of the house, my heart swelling with happine

Nathaniel's POV Morning in the hills of Southridge broke perfectly with cloudless blue skies, mild temperatures, and a soft breeze carrying the scent of ripening grapes. Annie had suggested a walk around the property, and I'd agreed instantly, grateful for a little time alone with her, away from the buzz of family activity. "Come on, I want to show you my favorite place to read," Annie said, taking my hand and pulling me toward the vineyard. Ginger trotted happily behind us, occasionally stopping to investigate an interesting scent or chase a leaf the breeze had knocked loose. Her puppy enthusiasm was contagious, and I couldn't help smiling as I watched her discover an entirely new world. Annie was glowing, clearly emotional about being back in the place that had become a refuge for her after Zoey's wedding. Her eyes sparkled as she guided me through the grounds. "That's where I used to sit and read in the afternoons," she said, pointing to a stone bench beneath a large, leaf

London welcomed us back with its usual mood—gray skies, a light drizzle, and a temperature that made me seriously question why anyone would willingly leave Verdanian warmth for an English winter. It had been two weeks since our return, and life had settled back into its rhythm: work at Kensington during the day, quiet nights at home with Ginger, and weekends spent organizing the first details of the wedding. The engagement ring on my finger still felt surreal at times. I'd catch myself staring at it during meetings, watching the light reflect off the diamond, my mind drifting back to that perfect moment at the winery when Nate had gone down on one knee beside me. Ginger had adjusted seamlessly to London life again, though I suspected she missed the wide vineyards and the warmer Verdanian weather. That particular night, we were lying in bed after making love, slow, deep, and unhurried in the way the English cold always seemed to inspire. My body was relaxed and warm against Nate's

The third week of treatment was being especially brutal. My body felt like it had declared war on itself. It was swelling in places I didn't even know could swell, mood swings that had me crying over toilet paper commercials, and breast tenderness so bad that even hugs were uncomfortable. I was stretched out on the living room couch, wearing loose sweatpants and one of Nate's T-shirts that had officially become my uniform on the bad days. Ginger had become my loyal companion through this rough phase. It was like she instinctively understood that something was wrong, because she never left my side. She was lying on the floor next to the couch now, occasionally getting up to lick my hands or rest her head on my knee with those expressive eyes that seemed to say, I get it. It's okay. "Hey, beautiful," Nate said, appearing in the living room doorway with a tray in his hands. "I brought Belgian chocolate and chamomile tea." My heart swelled at the sight of him. Over the past few weeks

Marcus' POV The café in Mayfair had the perfect level of activity for our conversation. It was not empty enough to draw attention, not crowded enough for us to be overheard. I arrived a few minutes early and chose a table toward the back, where we could talk without interruption. The place carried that quiet, understated elegance typical of London's elite: dark wooden tables, comfortable leather chairs, and a clientele speaking in low voices about important deals. I ordered a coffee while I waited, mentally reviewing everything I knew so far. Lunch with Tori had been revealing, but I needed confirmation before committing to any real course of action. Alexandra arrived precisely at three, dressed in an impeccable gray suit, a leather portfolio tucked under her arm. Her movements were sharp and deliberate. This was the Alexandra I'd known for years. Calculated. Always in control. When her eyes met mine, she walked straight over with the confidence that had intimidated more than a f