Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 567 Nicholas' POV "Daddy, look!" Bella ran up to me holding a drawing she had just finished. It was full of bright crayon colors and showed what looked like three figures: her, me, and a third person with long hair and something that looked like a star on her neck. "It's beautiful, sweetheart," I said, taking the paper to look more closely. "Who's this one?" "Gwen!" Bella answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I drew us watching Miraculous, remember?" Of course I remembered. That afternoon on the couch.

The three of us squeezed under a blanket that was way too small. Bella in heaven. Completely unaware of the electric tension between me and Gwen. "It's perfect," I said honestly. "Let's put it on the fridge." Bella nodded enthusiastically and ran toward the kitchen, probably to show Grandma first before hanging it up with the magnets beside all the other drawings already covering the old refrigerator. I stayed where I was for a moment, watching my daughter disappear down the hallway, her laughter echoing through the villa. It had been like this for the past thirty-something days.

Bella mentioned Gwen constantly. Asked when she was coming back. If she had forgotten about us. If they were still real friends or if the necklace she wore every day had lost its meaning. And every time she asked, I felt that familiar tightness in my chest. That mix of longing, frustration, and something deeper I didn't want to name. Gwen texted. Not a lot, but sometimes. Funny pictures she found online and thought I'd like. Memes about wine or country life that reminded her of me. She asked how Bella was doing. How things were at the inn. If the snow had finally melted.

still remembered. Every detail, with a clarity that should have faded by now but stubbornly hadn't. The way she fit in my arms. The

one. And God, how I wanted one. She would never give up her life to live in the middle of nowhere. And I couldn't abandon my mother, my daughter, or this place that was all that remained of my family's legacy. I took out my phone and looked at her last message from

some point, it always faded out. Because neither of us was willing to have the real conversation. The one about what that night had meant. About whether it meant anything more than two adults giving in to an obvious physical attraction. I slipped my phone back into my pocket and went

courtyard. It was a smooth, expensive engine, not the kind our guests usually drove.

I went downstairs quickly, intercepting him before he could walk inside and potentially scare the guests. Or worse, my mother. "Mr. Valemont?" he asked, extending his hand with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "That's me," I said, shaking it briefly. "Alexander Foster, from Castoria Capital Bank," he introduced himself, handing me a business