Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 515 Madeline's POV The address Christian gave me led to a modest neighborhood on the east side of Belmonte. Simple houses lined tree-shaded streets. The kind of place where people still knew each other by name, where kids played on the sidewalks until the sun went down, where neighbors chatted over low walls about soccer and the rising price of gas. It was a world completely different from mine. And even farther from Dominic's. I parked in front of number 247 and turned off the engine, but I didn't get out right away.

I stayed there, hands still on the steering wheel, staring at the house through the windshield. It was small. Two stories. Fresh cream-colored paint, already starting to peel at the corners. A front garden cared for with love, even if it was simple-rose bushes, a small herb bed, white pebbles outlining the paths. A pink-and-purple children's bike leaned against the porch, the front basket stuffed with crayons. A house. A home. Built with effort and love by a woman who had every reason to give up. But hadn't. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the folder on the passenger seat.

I'd been putting this off for a week. A full week since that night. Since everything ended. Marcus was home recovering, constantly complaining about being forced to rest but obeying the moment either Mia or I gave him the look. Aurora was visibly growing every day, her eyes more alert, her little sounds more varied. And I was trying to process everything that had happened. But there was a promise I still hadn't kept. A promise that weighed on me more heavily with every passing day. Vivian had made me promise.

And no matter how complicated everything about her was, no matter how tangled my feelings were about what she'd done, a promise was a promise. I grabbed the folder, got out of the car, and walked toward the door. Every step felt heavier than the last. What was I supposed to say? How did you even begin a conversation like this? Hi, I'm the woman who was there when your sister killed the man who raped you? I rang the doorbell before I could lose my nerve and run. I heard movement inside. Light but hurried footsteps. A child's voice saying something I couldn't quite make out.

younger than I expected. Maybe twenty-six, twenty-seven at most. Dark brown hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, a few unruly strands framing her face. Faded jeans and an oversized T-shirt splattered with paint-the kind of clothes worn by someone who wasn't expecting visitors. A delicate, 1/4 makeup-free face. And those same

hidden behind layers and layers of armor, Cecilia's held a softness that disarmed me completely. A genuine kindness. And also sadness. Deep. Old. The kind that settles into your bones and never truly leaves-only learns how to live alongside the good moments. It

I said, clutching the folder to my chest like a shield. "I don't know if Vivian mentioned my name, but I-" "You," Cecilia interrupted, and something shifted dramatically in her expression. Her eyes widened. Her hand flew to her mouth. "You're Madeline. The one who was... the one who was there when-" Her voice broke. She couldn't finish the sentence. She didn't need to. "Yes," I said simply, holding her

I saw tears begin to form in Cecilia's eyes. "May I come in?" I asked gently. "There are some things I need to give you. Things Vivian asked me to bring. And... I think we need to talk."

the door wider. "Of course," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please. Come in." I stepped into a small but incredibly cozy living room. A floral sofa that had clearly seen better days but was clean and carefully kept. A colorful rug on the floor. Lace curtains on the windows, letting the afternoon light spill in softly. And drawings. Dozens of children's

of toys. Dolls of every 2/4 size. Colored pencils scattered everywhere. Sheets of paper covered in bright scribbles. A half-built block castle leaning precariously to one side. My stomach flipped. The shape of her face. The angle of her jaw. The exact shade of her eyes. Even the way she tilted her head as she looked at me with open

own person. And she deserved to be seen that way. "It's a visitor, sweetheart," Cecilia said, and the tenderness in her voice when she spoke to her daughter made my eyes sting. "How about you go play in your room for a little bit while Mommy talks to this lady? I promise it won't take long." Sarah studied me with that utterly adorable suspicion children reserve for strangers, her eyes carefully assessing me.