Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 634 Renee's POV It was Wednesday when | went back to Florentia. I'd been trying to reach Nick ever since | found out the truth. Ever since that idiot receptionist at Kensington confirmed that Christian was Christian Kensington, CEO of the wine company. Ever since every piece had clicked into place in my head like a grotesque, satisfying puzzle. Gwen Kensington. The "broke marketing consultant" was actually the heiress to a damn empire. On Saturday, | drove all the way to the estate. Two hours just to find out Nick wasn't there.

Martina answered the door with the kind of expression that said she would rather be anywhere else. "He went to Florentia," she said flatly. "Florentia?" | repeated, already knowing exactly where he was. Holed up in that obscene apartment with that liar. "Yes. He'll be back Monday morning." I tried to leave a message. Martina shut the door in my face ---- before | could finish my sentence. | spent the next few days trying to get in touch. Messages that never went through. Blocked. Calls that went straight to voicemail.

| got a new SIM card, a new number, and when he finally answered, he recognized my voice within a second and hung up. After the third attempt, he stopped answering entirely. Fine. Actually, it was better that way. Because | hadn't thought it through before. I'd been acting on impulse, on anger, just wanting to throw the truth in his face and watch the chaos unfold. But during those days, alone in the cramped little room at my aunt's house, something clicked. This information wasn't just a bomb. It was ammunition. And ammunition should be used strategically.

That's why I'd been camped out on one of the couches in Kensington's reception area since nine that moming Almost four hours sitting there. The receptionist Julia had politely informed me that | needed a ---- scheduled appointment to speak with "Miss Kensington." "That's fine," I'd replied with my sweetest fake smile. "I'll wait here until she comes out." Julia had frowned slightly. "Miss, Miss Kensington's schedule is quite full today.

Italian leather couch, "that I'll wait." She studied me for a few seconds, clearly deciding whether to call security or just ignore me. She chose to ignore me. Perfect. So | stayed there. Checking my phone obsessively. Watching the steady flow of impeccably dressed people coming and

porcelain cup. The coffee was exceptional. Of course it was. | drank it slowly, savoring every sip while | watched that world operate around me. And Nick

Kensington later today or-" "No," | cut in gently. "It needs to be in person. I'll wait." She sighed almost imperceptibly and returned to her desk. | kept waiting. Watching. Planning exactly what | would say.

No. She looked recognizable. That was the problem. This was the real Gwen. A charcoal gray tailored suit, cut to perfection. Probably custom- made. Louboutin heels I recognized instantly

"Gwent" | called out, my voice echoing through the marble hall ---- Loud enough that she couldn't pretend she hadn't heard me. She stopped. Turned her head. Saw me. Her expression shifted from genuine surprise to controlled irritation

around the luxurious lobby, the high ceilings, the marble columns, the expensive artwork on the walls. "Fake diamonds, huh?" | paused, calculated. "What happened? Did your family spend all the money decorating this place?" Gwen rolled her eyes almost imperceptibly.