All Chapters of Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire: Chapter 691 - Chapter 700

Nick's POV Bella's backpack felt too light for what I was doing. I zipped it up slowly, feeling the resistance of the fabric like it was the only real thing in a morning that had turned into a legal maze. Inside, I packed things she'd recognize without thinking. The pencil case with the cracked lid. Her sketchbook. Two changes of clothes. Pajamas. Her favorite hoodie. The pair of socks with little stars she insisted were "lucky." None of it was her life. Just a small enough slice so it wouldn't feel like goodbye. I heard footsteps in the living room and Martina's low voice, soft, careful, like she was building a nest around her. "Are you taking your necklace?" Martina asked. "The friendship one?" Bella replied, bright. "Yes!" I paused for half a second, my hand still on the backpack strap. That necklace had become proof of affection and, at the same time, potential ammunition. I hated how everything blurred together like that. Bella appeared at the end of the hallway

Renee's POV Two months was long enough to learn where the sun hit the living room at the end of the afternoon. Which toys were too loud. Which ones made too much of a mess. Which cartoons Bella watched when she was tired and which ones she watched when she was pretending not to be. Two months was long enough for me to memorize her routine. And still not long enough to get what I wanted. I paced through the living room with my phone to my ear, stepping carefully so I wouldn't scatter the game pieces Bella had spread across the rug. She was sitting cross-legged, focused, whispering to her dolls like the whole world fit inside that tiny scene. For her, maybe it did. For me, the world fit into numbers. "This is ridiculous," I said into the phone, keeping my voice controlled. The living room door was open, and the neighbor next door had inconveniently sharp hearing. "I've had my daughter for two months and I'm still receiving… that pathetic amount." On the other end, my lawy

Gwen's POV The hospital wristband felt too light for the weight I was carrying. My name printed in black ink reduced my entire life to one clean line. As if the hardest thing in the world were just a well-entered record. I pressed the folder to my chest, checked the time on my phone for the third time, and, out of habit, organized everything I needed to say. Weeks. Symptoms. Questions. Follow-up tests. I could do this. I always could. If I kept everything perfectly organized, I wouldn't feel anything beyond what was necessary. Lie. What I felt was a constant hum in my chest. Like an engine running in neutral. Nick walked beside me with enough calm for both of us. His hand found mine when he noticed I was gripping the folder too tightly. "We're early," he said, like time was something gentle. "I plan to be early," I replied. He let out a soft laugh. "Of course you do." The receptionist asked for our documents, and I answered automatically. Names. Dates. Numbe

Nick's POV "As far as I know, she was supposed to be with you." I didn't raise my voice. Not because I was calm. Yelling at Renee is like throwing gasoline on a fire. Better not, when I can help it. "Don't play games with me," Renee shot back, her face flushed with anger. "I know you took her." I blinked, confused. "What are you talking about?" Renee yanked open her purse. For a second, I thought she was about to pull out her phone and start recording me, setting up some performance I didn't understand yet. Instead, she pulled out a folded piece of paper. She waved it in my face like it was a warrant. "'I'm going back to Dad.'" She read it aloud, exaggerating every word, spitting out each syllable. "This. This was in her room. Do you think I'm an idiot?" The handwriting was childish. I recognized the way Bella made her "p" with the leg too long. I even recognized the extra little dot she liked to add when she decorated her sentences. I took a slow breath. "I don

Gwen's POV When the elevator doors closed, I ran back inside the apartment, grabbed my purse, and pulled out my phone with the same reflex I use when a contract is on fire. I needed to solve, not feel. The school answered on the first ring. "Good afternoon, administration." "This is Gwen Kensington," I said, no preamble. "I need to speak to the principal. Now." A brief pause. The kind where the world decides if you're important enough. I knew I was. "One moment." I heard the click. The waiting. Forced myself to breathe. In the background, children's voices. Footsteps. A distant bell. Normal life. "Ms. Kensington?" the principal came on the line, voice controlled. "I need today's security footage," I said immediately. "From the gate and the entrance area. I need the exact time Isabella Valemont usually arrives and the exact time you realized she hadn't entered." "Ma'am, that—" she started, slipping into bureaucracy. I cut in without raising my voice. "This