Lahat ng Kabanata ng Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire: Kabanata 41 - Kabanata 50

I stared at Christian, trying to process what he had just said. Go back to the mansion? The place where we'd pretended to be a couple. Where we'd grown so close. Where I'd almost fallen for him for real. "I don't know if that's a good idea," I finally replied. "Probably not," he agreed, which surprised me. "But it's practical. And you don't have many options right now." I pressed my lips together, glancing at my lone suitcase. He was right, of course. Highridge Valley was in peak season. Even the simplest hotels were either full or charging outrageous rates. "There are no hidden intentions here, Zoey," Christian added, his voice softer. "It's just a place to stay until your flight. A place you already know." I bit my lower lip, torn. The offer was tempting in its simplicity. A place to stay. No complications. No expectations. "Alright," I decided at last. "But I'm still going to try to reschedule my flight." Christian picked up my suitcase before I could protest and heade

Christian's words kept pounding in my head as I got ready to leave. "It's not like she's really the kind of woman for someone in my position." Each syllable was a small wound reopening, over and over again. I dressed carefully—dark jeans, a tailored blazer, and a simple blouse. Not what I would have worn if I were still representing Sunvale, but enough to blend in at the event without drawing attention. My plan was simple: go to the complex, check if Kensington's presentation went smoothly, and then leave. No confrontations, no drama. Just the confirmation that my warning about the sabotage had worked. I took a taxi to the convention center, watching the Highridge Valley landscape roll by through the window. The irony wasn't lost on me—how such a beautiful place could be the backdrop to so much pain. The driver, sensing my silence, kept quiet for the whole ride. By the time I arrived, the event was already in full swing. Colorful booths, people circulating with glasses of wine,

The hospital lighting was merciless, that bluish-white glare that seemed to drain all life and color from people. I walked down the sterile corridor carrying a small thermal bag with a carefully wrapped sandwich and a thermos that felt heavy in my hand. The hours since the ambulance had left were a blur. After the initial shock, my mind had gone into autopilot. I'd called the hospital reception, confirmed that Joseph had been admitted, and decided that staying alone at the mansion, spiraling in my thoughts, wouldn't help anyone. I found Christian exactly where the receptionist had said—in the waiting room of the cardiology ward. Sitting alone on one of the plastic chairs, elbows on his knees, his hands buried in his now completely disheveled hair. His once impeccable suit was wrinkled, his tie gone, the first buttons of his shirt undone. He looked so… human. I approached quietly, sitting down beside him without announcing myself. Christian lifted his head slowly, red, tired eye

The car glided silently along the winding road toward the mansion. Through the window, I watched the vineyards bathed in silver moonlight, somber and almost melancholic. The driver kept his eyes fixed on the road, discreetly ignoring the palpable tension between us in the back seat. Christian sat with his head leaned back, eyes closed, though he wasn't asleep. Physical and emotional exhaustion was etched into every line of his face. When he finally broke the silence, his voice was hoarse, low: "You didn't have to do that." I kept my gaze on the passing landscape, as if the dark outlines of the vines could offer some kind of comfort. "I didn't do it for you," I replied, bitterness bleeding into my words. "I did it for your grandfather." "Even so," he insisted, and out of the corner of my eye I saw he'd opened his eyes to look at me. "Thank you." I could feel his gaze on me, but I refused to meet it. I was afraid that if I did, he'd see too much—the hurt from the cruel words

The stone corridors felt endless as Christian guided me through a part of the estate I had never seen. With each step, the air grew cooler, the silence heavier. My breathing had returned to normal, though the traces of dried tears still lingered on my face. "Where are we going?" I finally asked, my voice echoing lightly against the stone walls. "To my favorite place on the entire property," he replied, without letting go of my hand. We descended a spiral stone staircase until we reached a heavy wooden door. Christian tapped a code into a discreet panel, and the door opened with a soft click. "Welcome to the Kensington's main cellar." I stepped inside, and the breath immediately left my lungs. The space was immense, far larger than I would have imagined, bathed in soft lights that cast dancing shadows along the ancient stone walls. Rows upon rows of oak barrels stretched out into the distance, some so large I would have had to spread my arms wide to hug them. Along the side wa