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.

arms. The sound of her breathing. The taste of her skin. The way she said my name when- I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away. It didn't help to relive it. It didn't change anything. She lived in Florentia, immersed in a world I barely

one. And God, how I wanted one. She would never give up her life to live in the middle of nowhere.

at least, she'd sent laughing emojis. And then the conversation had died right there. It always did. At some point, it always faded out. Because neither of us was willing to have the real conversation. The one about what

heard a car pull into the courtyard. It was a smooth, expensive engine, not the kind our guests usually drove. I stood and went to the window, that familiar knot tightening in my stomach. It was a new black Mercedes that was shiny, even under a thin layer of road dust. And the man who stepped out of it was

representatives. Debt collectors. Men who arrived with polite smiles and gentle words that hid very real threats. 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