All Chapters of Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire: Chapter 681 - Chapter 690

Nick's POV I had made a promise. Not the kind with pretty words. Not the kind adults say to feel better about themselves. I had promised with presence. With time. With the rarest thing I'd learned to give after becoming a father. Staying. Bella was sprawled across the living room rug with a blanket over her head, turning herself into a dramatic "ghost" who shuffled slowly and deliberately bumped into furniture. "Uuuuuh…" she moaned, lightly crashing into the couch. "I'm the ghost that haunts dads who make babies." I laughed before I could stop myself, even with everything still tight in my chest. "Wow. That's very specific." "Ghosts know everything," she replied, throwing the blanket off. Her hair was a mess, her nose still pink from crying earlier. I crouched down in front of her. "Okay. Smart ghost. Want to talk to me without the blanket?" She hesitated, her eyes sliding away like talking might be a trap. But her hand reached for mine anyway. Small. Warm. That

Renee's POV That Monday, I parked two blocks from Bella's school and stayed in the car for a moment, studying my reflection in the window. The cut on my forehead was hidden under a discreet bandage. The bruises were covered by carefully chosen clothes. The rest was makeup and good lighting. The school secretary recognized me before I even said my name. Not warmly. Professionally. The look of someone who has seen wealthy fathers, angry mothers, and children stuck in between. I showed my ID, signed the form, and offered a simple explanation about a "medical appointment" and needing to pick her up two classes early. Mother. That word opens doors. No one asked if her father knew. No one wanted to step into that territory. Schools prefer not to buy into family wars. And I knew exactly how to use that cowardice in my favor. Bella appeared at the classroom door with her backpack on, surprise written all over her face. "Mom?" she said, and for a second that was all it was. A litt

Gwen's POV The question landed in the kitchen like a glass dropped on marble. I couldn't hear it shatter from inside the wine cellar, but I felt the vibration move straight through me. Nick stopped breathing. I could tell by the way his shoulders locked up, like the air had suddenly become too heavy to pull in. Bella answered too fast. "My mom's." No pause. No little "um" while she thought. No "can I say something else?" the way she did when she was torn between two choices. It was dry. Clean. Immediate. An answer that sounded… prepared. Nick made a low sound, almost a choke, like he'd taken a punch to the stomach and was still trying to stand upright. His hand went to the wall for support as his knees started to give. I dropped down beside him without thinking. "Breathe," I whispered, close to his ear. "Breathe. It doesn't mean anything. She loves you." He looked at me, and there was something so raw in his eyes that for a second I hated myself for ever believing "we

Gwen's POV The way Dante said it told me exactly how serious this was. It wasn't gossip. It wasn't a hallway rumor. It was something that demanded eyes on it. Context. Something we'd have to face head-on. Nick nodded once. Sharp. I saw his shoulders tighten like he was bracing for impact. Bella stayed in the backseat a second longer, still buckled in, looking from Dante to us like she was trying to figure out why adults always wore that same worried expression. "Come on, princess," Dante said gently, gesturing without rushing her. "It'll be quick." Bella climbed out slowly, stepping onto the gravel with too much care for a child her age. I felt the urge to take her hand. I didn't. Dante led us along the side of the main house. The path was short, but here at the estate, everything echoed. Every door. Every corridor. Every corner still held that recent silence. The kind that reminded you how much worse things could've been. We stepped into one of the small support rooms. I

Nick's POV "Based on the technical evaluation and the minor's well-being, I grant the request for a provisional measure, establishing temporary residence with the mother, with visitation rights for the father on designated days and times, until further review by this court." I heard every word. But it felt like listening to a language I only understood well enough to recognize danger, not well enough to defend myself against it. Mother. Father. Visitation. Review. The sound went distant and unbearably heavy at the same time. I watched the judge's mouth move and thought, stupidly, that I should've brought a glass of water. That I should've slept more. That I should've answered differently somewhere along the way. On some random day. In some conversation that had now turned into this. A clean, almost polite sentence about my daughter's life. I caught a glimpse of Renee. Perfect hair. Straight posture. That calculated calm she only wore when she was winning. Her lawyer already