Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 684 Gwen's POV The house was too clean. Not clean in the organized sense. The house was always organized. | couldn't stand the idea of living in chaos. No, this. was clean in a different way. Prepared. Staged. Like I'd tried to sweep away the things you can't actually sweep. The problems. The police station. The humiliation of hearing my name spoken by an officer like | was some kind of public nuisance. I'd chosen a discreet blouse, my hair pulled back, makeup light enough that it didn't look like | was hiding anything.

At the same time, polished enough to hide what could be hidden. Nick was pretending to be calm. He wasn't. Bella, on the other hand, looked... normal. Too normal "It's going to be fine," Nick said quietly, his hand resting on my waist in a way that was too protective not to also be anxious. | nodded. Smiled. | was very good at looking like everything was under control. My stomach didn't believe me. ---- The doorbell rang with Italian punctuality, which irritated me for completely irrational reasons. | wanted delays. | wanted human flaws. | wanted anything that reminded me this wasn't a trial.

Nick went to answer it, but | was already one step ahead. Automatic. I'd always been the hostess. Even of my own tragedies. The man at the door looked like he'd stepped out of a handbook. Dark suit. Slim briefcase. Neutral expression trained not to reveal an opinion too soon. "Gwen Kensington?" he asked. "Yes." My voice came out steady. The voice | used in multimillion -dollar meetings. "Please, come in." He introduced himself with formal politeness. Name. Role. A mention of procedure. He didn't say interview. He didn't say investigation.

He said initial assessment, with the careful tone of someone choosing his words like he was walking on ice. Nick appeared at my side, his arm brushing lightly across Bella's back as she drifted closer to peek. "I'm Nicholas," he said. "Isabella's father." The man greeted Bella too. Not in a condescending way. Just kind. ---- "Hi, Bella. You doing okay?" Bella gave a small smile. Too polite for a child. The smile she used when she felt like she had to behave. "I'm fine." | gestured toward the kitchen. I'd chosen it on purpose. Light. Comfort. The smell of home.

I'd like to speak with Bella for a few minutes. Just the two of us." My entire body went on alert. Nick's did too. | could feel it in the air, the same impulse rising in both of us. No. Not out of control. Out of fear. Protection. The pure panic of what an eight-year-old might say without understanding that every word could

almost a silent plea. Trust me. The man asked questions that sounded harmless and were ---- anything but. Routine, Schedules, School. Support system. | answered the way | answered executive interviews. Objective. Clear. No drama. Nick answered with more emotion than he intended, but with honesty. Bella sat at the table, pushing

if a new life could fit inside a single line. Then he closed the briefcase gently and looked at Bella. "Would it be okay if we talked for a few minutes, just us? You can help me understand what your routine is like. | promise it'll be quick." Bella nodded, glancing at Nick first. Automatic. Asking permission with

| stood first, setting the tone, like | was just going to grab some water. Nick followed me with his eyes, lost, caught between obeying and disobeying. That was when | made a small motion with my hand. Barely noticeable. "Come." Nick hesitated for exactly one second. The second where the father inside him wanted to say no. Then | saw the adult remember where we were. He stood silently, because staying would've turned into defiance. He

became two adult ghosts, hidden behind bottles and wood, trying to control what cannot be controlled On the other side, the man began with simple questions. "Bella, tell me... what's it like living here?" ---- "It's... nice," she answered. "And what do you like to do with your dad?" A short silence. Then, "We...

my skin prickle. "She..." Bella hesitated. "She's... nice." | closed my eyes for a second. Just one. Nice. That was it. One small adjective. But in that kitchen, it felt like a trophy. "And when you're with your mom, what do you do?" Bella listed things. Ice cream. Outings. "Shopping." Movies. Things that sounded like rewards. Then he asked the question I'd been

replied. | recognized that phrase. Exactly how a child talks when she wants to be taken seriously but doesn't have the words. The man asked the right question. "and how does that make you feel?" Bella took a moment. Her voice came