Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 568 Gwen's POV The apartment door closed behind me with a soft, final click, sealing off another exhausting day. I tossed my purse onto the couch, kicked off the heels that had tortured my feet for the past twelve hours, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The apartment was quiet. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant ticking of the clock on the living room wall. The cook had left a plate covered in plastic wrap in the fridge, like she always did. Something that looked like mushroom risotto.

I took it out and put it in the microwave, setting it for three minutes without really paying attention. While I waited, I leaned against the cold marble counter and looked around the spotless kitchen. Modern. Expensive. Outfitted with every high-end appliance anyone could want, and completely lifeless. The microwave beeped. I grabbed the plate, a bottle of water from the fridge, and headed to the dining table. The huge table that could easily seat eight people, but where I always ate alone. The risotto was good. Of course it was.

Still, I ate mechanically, barely tasting it as my thoughts drifted. Lately, they always drifted to the same place. To a much cozier kitchen, with an old wooden table worn by time, where a family sat down together every night. Where a six-year-old girl excitedly pacckaзbl about her day while her grandmother smiled and her father listened with complete attention. I pushed the half-full plate away, my appetite gone. I felt depressed. There was no other word for the heavy feeling that had settled in my chest and refused to leave.

A deep, persistent sadness that followed me even on my busiest days, even when I was surrounded by people in meetings, even when I should have been satisfied with everything I had achieved. After my memories had come back with that violent, overwhelming force, after I remembered who I was and the life I had been living, something had changed. Something fundamental. For a few days, I had believed in things that weren't real. And it had been so easy to believe.

The only place where I could truly let my guard down and just be... me. I went straight to the closet. Not the main one filled with tailored suits, expensive dresses, and designer shoes. But the smaller, more hidden closet where I

small step ladder, climbed up, and took down the little box from the highest shelf, hidden behind other boxes. 1/3 It was simple. Light wood. Nothing special. But inside... I sat on the closet floor with the box in my lap and opened it with slightly trembling hands. Inside, carefully wrapped in layers of tissue paper, was a pregnancy test that was six, almost seven years old. The pink line was

of my hand. Ones I had bought in a moment of naïve hope, imagining tiny feet tucked inside them. I picked up the booties, brushing my thumb over the soft fabric, and it was as if a dam broke open in

be sure. All positive. I was nervous, but excited too. Scared, but hopeful. We were young, yes, but we loved each other. Or at least I thought we did. And we could make it work. We could be a family. When he got home from work, I showed him the test right away. I couldn't wait. I couldn't bring myself to set the moment up in the romantic way I'd planned. "I'm pregnant," I said, holding out the test, smiling even through my nerves. I

repeated, my smile starting to falter. "We're going to have a baby." He took the test from my hand, stared at it like it was something disgusting, then slammed it down on the table. "I can't believe you did this," he said, raking his hands through his hair so hard it looked painful. "Did what?"