Semua Bab Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire: Bab 731 - Bab 740

Zoey's POV "I think Christian is cheating on me." The words slipped out before I decided they were allowed to exist. They landed in Annie's living room like a metal spoon hitting a glass—too loud for a space that, three seconds earlier, had been nothing but comfort. We were sprawled across her couch in London, mid-afternoon, the TV playing something mindless—one of those shows that exists purely so you don't have to think—and two open tubs of ice cream on the coffee table like a survival strategy. Outside, the London sky was doing what it always does: threatening rain without committing. Annie slowly turned her head, stared at me for half a second, and then burst out laughing in my face. She almost dropped her spoon. "Zoey," she said, still laughing, "that's ridiculous." I pressed my lips together, feeling my face heat up. I had come here to talk to my sister because I knew that the second I said it out loud, half my brain would want to lock me in a room and make me sit wit

Zoey's POV The night was cool, but not cold. I grabbed Christian's hand while he clutched his shirt in the other, and led him out of the house, across the garden and onto the stone path that led to the shed where the bikes were kept. He followed without asking questions, but I could feel his curiosity in the way his fingers tightened around mine. "Where are you taking me?" he asked when I grabbed one of the bikes and adjusted the handlebars. "You'll see," I said, swinging my leg over the seat. Christian got on his bike with that annoyingly natural coordination of someone who's always been good at everything without trying. He was wearing nothing but sweatpants and a basic T-shirt, and somehow still looked like he belonged in a spread called "effortlessly attractive men in casual settings." "Follow me," I said, and started pedaling. The path to the vineyards was short, but winding. The moonlight was enough that I didn't have to worry about stumbling, and the sound of tires

Christian's POV The bar at Rosemonte Club had that carefully dim lighting that made every decision feel more thoughtful than it really was. Dark wood. Leather. Glass polished to perfection. A piano playing softly in the background, like the music had been trained not to interrupt important conversations. I was there because Marcus had dragged me out of my own echo. After the jump, I'd come back down to earth with the ridiculous feeling that something had unlocked. Like, for a few seconds, I remembered I wasn't made only of control. Marcus sat across from me, already holding a drink, watching me with a kind of patience he didn't use often. Cousin patience. The kind that knew you before the title. "Alright," he said, setting his glass down with a firm tap. "Now that we have drinks… say that again. Slowly." I watched the ice spin in my glass. Watched the reflection of the lights in it like I might find the right answer there. The right phrasing. A less absurd version o

Zoey's POV I walked into the bedroom with my body begging for bed and my mind still full of the bakery—Mia's voice treating my birthday like a global event, Madeline eating for two with a confidence I admired and envied. I took a quick shower, washed my hair, and came back in wearing a robe, looking like the domestic version of myself—the version I actually like. I went straight to the vanity, because skincare is my daily therapy: cleanse, hydrate, pretend it organizes my thoughts too. I tied my hair up and started massaging my face. The mirror gave me my bare skin—and Christian already lying down, far too comfortable for a man who carries an empire on his shoulders. He glanced up just enough to see me… then went back to his phone. "Today was funny," I said, watching my reflection. "Mia started that whole 'thirtieth birthday party that shuts down Verdania and the world' thing. Then Madeline laughed and said 'intimate' and 'Kensington' don't belong in the same sentence. And Mi

Zoey's POV I couldn't stay in that room pretending everything was fine while Matthew stood there chewing on a "it's probably nothing" with a face that clearly said it was something. "Come," I said, already walking, not giving him a chance to argue in front of the staff. I pulled my brother down the hallway and into the winter garden—the only place in the house that made me feel like I was outside without actually leaving. Glass, plants, soft light. No staff passing by. No clinking dishes. No sense that anything I said could turn into gossip in fifteen minutes. Matthew stayed standing, hands in his pockets, wearing that patient expression of his. I didn't want patience. I wanted an answer that made my stomach stop tightening. "Zoey…" he started. "Shh," I cut him off, already pulling out my phone. I wasn't going to investigate. I wasn't going to stalk. I wasn't going to do anything that made me look like I'd lost my dignity. I was going to call my husband. Simpl