Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 525 Nicholas' POV I placed my hand at the base of Miss Parker's waist, feeling the soft fabric of her coat beneath my fingers. The touch was more intimate than I would normally dare with a stranger, but we needed to sell the lie we'd just created. Gwen stiffened slightly under my hand momentarily before relaxing and allowing herself to be guided toward the clinic door. "I'll take care of her, Dr. Marshall," I said, keeping my voice steady as I signed the discharge papers he handed me. "I'll follow all the instructions.

If she shows any worrying symptoms, I'll bring her back immediately." "Good, Nick," the doctor said, handing me a printed sheet with post-head injury instructions and a prescription. "Keep her under observation for the next twenty-four hours. No intense physical activity, avoid screens for long periods, and if she vomits, expériences blurred vision, or becomes excessively drowsy, call me right away." I nodded, folded the papers, and slipped them into my back pocket. My hand was still at Gwen's waist, and I could feel the warmth of her body through the layers of clothing.

Something about it felt... wrong. Not morally wrong, but out of place. Like wearing someone else's clothes. We walked down the narrow hallway of the small clinic-if it could even be called a clinic. It was more of a private practice Dr. Marshall kept to serve the residents of Montelira and the surrounding rural estates. The town was far too small for a real hospital; serious cases were sent to Stonebridge. The cold afternoon air hit us the moment we stepped outside. Gwen shivered beside me and pulled her coat tighter around herself.

I guided her toward my truck-a well-worn white Ram ProMaster, its dents telling stories of years spent hauling wine crates, equipment, and the occasional stubborn goat that had escaped from a neighboring pasture. I opened the passenger door for her, and Gwen looked at the interior with an expression I couldn't quite read. Hesitation? Disapproval? Confusion? She climbed in carefully, using the handle above the door to steady herself. I closed the door gently and walked around, snow crunching beneath my boots. When I slid into the driver's seat, the space felt smaller.

was the subtle perfume clinging to her, something expensive and refined that didn't match who she claimed to be. I started the engine and cranked the heater up to full blast, "Are you really okay?" I asked, turning to look at her. Gwen stared at me for a long moment, those blue eyes studying my face with

eyes-a gesture so natural and expressive that for a second she seemed perfectly fine. Then

sky darkened. As I drove, my mind wouldn't slow down. What the hell did I just do? I had told Dr. Marshall that woman was my fiancée. The words sounded strange even inside my own head. I didn't have a fiancée. I didn't have a girlfriend. I barely had time for real conversations with adults that weren't about wine orders or room reservations. But she had fallen on the steps of my inn. She was a guest-or at least she was

So when she said I was her fiancé, I understood what

thick with genuine confusion. My stomach dropped. She was far more disoriented than she'd seemed back at the clinic. Maybe I'd just stepped into something much

like she was testing the word. "Do I speak Maravinese?" "Apparently," I said, genuinely curious now. "You understand it. Are you Verdanian?" Gwen closed her eyes, and I saw tension gather around her mouth. She was concentrating, digging for something buried deep in her memory. When she opened her eyes again, she started reciting, as if reading from an invisible script:

was exactly what she'd said at the clinic, like a recording replaying. "Okay," I said slowly. "Valentian, then." The