Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 682 Nick's POV Florentia traffic was its usual brand of cruel. Slow. Narrow streets. Pedestrians crossing like the world wasn't collapsing inside the driver's seat of my car. Gwen's voice kept replaying in my head. Police station. | couldn't make it fit. Gwen Kensington didn't "end up at a police station." Gwen handled things with contracts. With meetings. With one perfectly calibrated sentence. | needed someone cold for both of us. | hit the hands-free button and called the number | already had saved. "Mr.

Cross." His voice came through crisp, far too alert for the hour, "It's me. Nick." A brief pause. | could almost hear him shifting into professional mode. "Mr. Valemont." ---- "It's my wife." The word still felt new in my mouth, but | didn't have time to feel it. "Gwen. She's at a police station in Florentia. "I'm on my way," he replied without asking for dramatic details. " Which station?" | gave him the location Gwen had managed to tell me. "Til get there first." "Do not go in alone. Wait for me at the entrance. And please, do not argue with anyone inside.

Let me handle the talking." When | pulled up, the air outside the station felt heavier, like Florentia had decided to turn into stone. Cross arrived minutes later, immaculate as always, briefcase in hand. The kind of man who walked into any room and reminded it that rules existed. "Mr. Valemont," he said, the formality a quiet warning not to lose control. "Let's go." The reception area smelled like old paper and burnt coffee. An officer looked us over, then straightened when he recognized Cross's tone, if not his face.

Cross presented his credentials and said Gwen's name with a calm that felt almost insulting compared to the panic inside me. ---- A few low exchanges followed. A glance at a monitor. A short nod. "She's waiting," the officer said. "Holding room." Holding room. Not a cell. Just a more civilized way of saying you're not leaving yet. The hallway was narrow. Footsteps echoed. Doors opened and shut. Voices murmured behind walls. | tried not to picture Gwen sitting in there alone, her mind racing. The door opened.

forward. As soon as they allowed her through, she came straight into my

the aftermath of nails and impulse than anything else. Five seconds. That's all it must have taken. "It's going to be okay," | said as steadily as | could. "Mr. Cross is here. He'll handle this." She pulled back just enough to look at me. "| didn't want to drag you into this," she said quickly, like it was somehow her fault I had to be there. "I didn't have a choice. Zoey and

me into anything." | touched her face gently, cutting her off. "You did exactly what you were supposed to do. I'm your husband." Cross stepped closer, greeted Gwen with a respectful nod, and began speaking with the officer. There were a few more minutes of formal phrases, signatures, IDs checked. The usual bureaucratic theater. Gwen answered

a minute," Cross said, nodding toward a small café nearby. It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order dressed up politely. We went in. I pulled out Gwen's chair without thinking. She sat and immediately took my hands across the table, gripping them like if she let go, everything would slip through her fingers. "Gwen, | need you to be completely precise with me," Cross began, direct because

didn't-" "lunderstand what you believe happened," Cross interrupted calmly. "Now I'm going to tell you what's in the report." He unlocked his phone and turned the screen toward us. Gwen looked once and went completely still. My stomach dropped with the color draining from her face. ---- There were photos attached to the complaint. Renee with visible marks on her face, a cut on her