Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 678 Gwen's POV | walked out of the restroom as if nothing had happened. The door closed behind me with a soft, almost polite click, and | made my way down the narrow hallway without looking back, even with the metallic taste of blood lingering at the corner of my mouth | brushed the back of my hand across it, disguising the motion as if | were fixing a strand of hair. Red. Just a thin streak, but enough to remind me | had crossed a line | had spent my entire life avoiding. | didn't like physical fights. Not because | was weak. Far from it.

But because ninety-nine percent of the time, things can be handled with words. Renee was my one percent. She had a sick talent for turning air into a blade. For finding, with surgical precision, the exact pressure point that makes a smart woman lose her intelligence for two seconds. ---- And if someone dragged me into a fight... | wasn't going to lose. That's a skill you develop when you grow up being shoved into lockers by people who think it's funny that you're "the mistress's daughter." When you learn too early that crying in public becomes someone else's entertainment.

When you realize the world has no patience for girls who lower their heads. I'm not proud of it. Okay. Maybe a little. Because Christian taught me something | never forgot: if you don't know how to defend yourself, people will always corner you. And if you let it happen once, you become the person they try again. So | learned. To defend myself with words. With money, when necessary. And with my fists, when nothing else would do. Renee, on the bathroom floor, had just learned that the direct way.

steps steady. | looked like | still belonged there. That's how you survive. You don't show up wounded. | was only a few feet from the side exit, the one that led more directly to the elevator and parking

were heading out, but the talk was perfect. We just need two more photos for local press and one for our institutional materials." | stopped. Her smile faltered the moment she really looked at me. Her eyes dropped

The makeshift makeup room was small, with a table crowded by brushes, setting sprays, highlighters, and a ring light that made everyone look slightly more exposed than they might prefer. The makeup artist, a woman with quick hands and observant

answered without... without giving anything personal away. It was so elegant." | let the conversation float around me without fully stepping into it. Anod here. A polite smile there. The strange sensation of discussing "reinvention" with a split lip. The makeup artist dabbed a cotton swab carefully along the side of