Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 90 The main hall looked even more crowded by the time Annie and I came down. The string quartet's music had been replaced by a livelier playlist, and several guests were moving across the makeshift dance floor. Joseph was surrounded by a group of older men, gesturing animatedly as he told what must have been a hilarious story, judging by the bursts of laughter around him. The chandeliers glittered off the women's expensive jewelry, scattering tiny constellations of light across the walls as they moved.

Several faces turned discreetly in our direction as we descended the stairs-some curious, others evaluative. Being the new Mrs. Kensington meant being constantly under scrutiny, something I still wasn't entirely used to. "There's Marcus," Annabelle said, nodding discreetly toward a corner of the hall where he was talking with two men in suits. "I'll... see if he needs assistance with something." "I'm sure he's desperate for your help," I remarked sarcastically. Annabelle only smiled, strategically adjusting her neckline. "Don't wait up for me," she whispered with a wink before slipping away.

I watched my sister glide across the room, weaving elegantly between guests. There was always something fascinating about her confidence-the way she moved through the world as though every space already belonged to her. The nausea had subsided, but in its place was a deep fatigue that made my limbs feel like lead. The thought of smiling and making small talk for a few more hours seemed nearly impossible. I raised a hand to my temple, massaging lightly, trying to stave off the dull headache that was beginning to form. "Feeling better?" Christian's voice, close to my ear, startled me.

I turned to find him watching me intently, concern clear in his eyes. "Yes, much better," I answered, trying to sound convincing. "Are you sure?" He touched my face gently, his fingers brushing my cheek. "You're pale." The gesture was so tender, so protective, that a lump rose in my throat. It was hard to remember, in moments like this, that our marriage had begun as a business arrangement. And that it would probably end as one. "I'm fine, really." I smiled, covering his hand with mine. "Just a passing queasiness." Christian nodded, though he didn't look entirely convinced.

"I heard something about you decorating Elise's shoes in a rather... expressive fashion." Heat rushed to my cheeks. "News travels

"She was... being Elise, and I just...' "Had the most natural reaction possible?" he finished, now grinning openly. "I'd say you deserve a medal for holding out as long as you did without an incident." "It was karmic payback for the wine she spilled on my wedding dress

that part. In fact, we'd never really talked about the details of that chaotic day-about how the stained dress had unexpectedly become the symbol of our marriage. "You didn't know?" I asked, surprised. "I thought Annie might've mentioned it, or something." "No one mentioned that your ex-best friend deliberately sabotaged your dress." Christian's voice was controlled, but the fury in his eyes was unmistakable. "Why didn't you ever tell me?" I shrugged, taking a small sip of water. "It

the end, it turned out... perfect, in a strange way." I smiled at the memory of the dress's transformation. "Besides, you were busy handling your own crisis with your grandfather's health.' 11 A crease formed between Christian's brows, as it always did when something troubled him deeply. For a moment, I thought he'd press the issue-demand more details about Elise's sabotage, or question why I had chosen to hide something so important. But then his expression softened, replaced

you know that?" he finally said, his voice low and intense. "Most people would've fallen apart. You turned a disaster into art." Heat crept up my neck again-but this time, for an entirely different reason. "I just did what needed to be done," I said, looking away, uncomfortable under the weight of his praise. "And that's exactly what makes you extraordinary." He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss