Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 540 Gwen's POV I woke up early, before the sun had fully risen. I couldn't stay in bed anymore. I needed to do something. I needed answers. I grabbed the car keys I'd seen yesterday while going through my suitcase. A discreet leather keychain with the logo of a brand I didn't recognize. I went downstairs quietly and stepped out into the icy morning parking lot. I pressed the button on the key fob, and the lights of a car that looked expensive blinked in response. I got in, adjusted the seat and mirrors like I'd done it a thousand times before, and started the engine.

It purred to life instantly. Driving was easy. It wasn't like I'd forgotten the basics. Press the clutch: Shift gears. Check the mirrors. My body knew exactly what to do, even when my mind couldn't remember learning how. The road to town was covered in a thin layer of ice that demanded extra care. I drove slowly, cautiously, focusing on every curve and descent. The center of Montelira was small but charming, with narrow stone streets and medieval buildings that looked like they'd been pulled straight from a postcard.

Even early on a Saturday morning, a few shops were already opening, owners sweeping sidewalks and arranging their windows. I parked near the main square and stepped out, pulling my coat tighter against the biting cold. I walked until I found what I was looking for. A modern café that doubled as a workspace. The sign read "Cafe & Co-working" in elegant lettering. Perfect. I went inside, and warmth wrapped around me along with the rich smell of fresh coffee and something sweet baking. The interior was cozy. Exposed brick walls. Rustic wooden tables. Comfortable couches.

And most importantly, a clearly designated work area with laptops available for customers. I approached the counter, where a young woman with short hair and a friendly smile greeted me. "Good morning! What can I get you?" I opened my mouth to order a regular coffee, but what came out instead was, "A cappuccino with cinnamon and a pinch of nutmeg, please. Oat milk, if you have it." The words came out so naturally, so automatically, that it took me a second to realize what I'd just said. The girl wrote it down without blinking. "Of course.

you." I paid and sat at one of the work tables while I waited. I grabbed one of the available laptops and opened it, watching it boot up. That order... cinnamon and nutmeg cappuccino, oat milk. That wasn't random. That wasn't something you ordered by accident. Maybe it was my usual. I started noticing a

went straight to Google. I took a deep breath and typed: Gwen Parker. I hit enter and waited for the results to load. Almost nothing. There were a few mentions of other Gwen Parkers. A teacher in Rome. An artist in Milan. A dentist in Naples. No photos that looked like me. No articles. No social media profiles. Nothing. Frustration began to simmer in my chest. How could someone just...not exist online nowadays? Everyone had a digital footprint. Everyone. Unless... Kensington. The name whispered into my mind. The name that had sent a chill down my spine when I'd seen it on my documents. The name that came with an automatic instinct to hide. To keep it secret. But why? Why did that name feel so wrong? Why couldn't anyone know it? But... I could know

show. Something involving relationships and wine. There was a small photo in the preview, but it was hard to see clearly. I moved the cursor to click the link. To open the page. To finally find out something,

said, trying not to sound as startled as I felt. "Hi." "Working?" she asked, gesturing at the closed laptop with a tilt of her chin. "No," I replied quickly. "Just... checking the news." She didn't

and I really are basically siblings. It's not just something we say." She took a bite of the muffin, chewing thoughtfully. "I was practically raised by Martina and Caesar." "Caesar?" "Nick's dad.

still there in her eyes. "Martina and Caesar took me in," she went on. "They raised me alongside Nick. We're close in age, so we really grew up like brother and sister. And I've always been very protective of him. Even jealous, sometimes." She smiled, but there was no malice in it. Just raw honesty. "Not in a romantic way," she added quickly. "It's