Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 494 Vivian's POV I stared at the nurse's uniform laid out on the bed. Light green. Impeccable. Complete with an ID badge that read "Julie Sanders - Nursing." I put the uniform on with trembling fingers, fastening each button, smoothing each crease. I pulled my hair into a tight bun before slipping on the disposable cap, hiding every last strand. The surgical mask came last, covering half my face and turning me into just another anonymous hospital employee. I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I didn't recognize myself. Maybe that was for the best.

I had already done many terrible things. Things I wasn't proud of. I had lied, manipulated, looked the other way while things happened that made me sick just thinking about them. But involving a child... a newborn... I squeezed my eyes shut, breathing deeply through the mask. I knew I had said things. Things I knew Dominic wanted to hear. That had always been part of my plan. From the beginning. But I had never thought it would come to this. Never imagined he would go this far. That I would go this far. But I had to do it. I had to carry out Dominic's plan.

Because if I didn't, he would find someone else. And whoever that someone else was wouldn't have my... restraints. "It's almost over," I whispered to my reflection, so softly I could barely hear myself. "It'll all be over soon." I picked up the gym bag Dominic had given me-large, discreet, with more than enough space. My stomach twisted just thinking about what it was for. I left the room and walked through the hospital corridors with steady steps, faking a confidence I didn't feel. The badge bounced lightly against my chest. No one looked at me twice. I was just another nurse on shift.

Dominic had said he'd secured a fifteen-minute gap in the security cameras. Fifteen minutes. If I went over, I'd be caught. The cameras would come back online, and my face would be recorded forever. Fifteen minutes. The clock was already ticking. I reached the door leading to the staff-only area. I swiped the access card-the same one that should have been in the pocket of the real nurse, who at that very moment was unconscious inside some supply closet Dominic had chosen. The light turned green. The lock clicked. 1/4 I stepped inside. The hallway was quieter here. Colder.

the babies stayed when they weren't in their mothers' rooms. I took one last deep breath before pushing the door open. Two nurses were inside-one flipping through paperwork, the other adjusting one of the bassinets. The first one looked up and smiled in relief. "Finally!" she said, immediately dropping

clearly confused by the fact that I was alone. There were always two nurses assigned to the nursery. Her gaze dropped to the gym bag slung over my shoulder, and she tilted her head. "Are you new? I don't recognize you." My heart slammed in my chest, but I kept my

like I belonged there. "You can go. I've got this." The first nurse was already halfway out the door, clearly eager to clock out. But the second one hesitated, still studying me with an uncertain look. "Are you sure? There are a lot of babies, and-" "Come on," the first nurse cut in, grabbing her colleague's arm. "Look at them-they're all asleep. She

the room broken only by the soft 2/4 front bearing the baby's name. My eyes moved across the names until I found the one I was looking for. Aurora Kensington. I walked slowly toward her crib, every step feeling heavier than the last. The bag bumped against

little mouth making faint sucking motions even in sleep. She had Madeline's features, I realized. The shape of her face. The small nose... "I'm sorry for this, little one," I whispered, my voice cracking slightly. There was no time to hesitate. The clock was still ticking. With hands that were surprisingly steady given how

an angel, settling into the dark, cozy space, probably thinking she was still in her safe crib. If only she knew. I adjusted the bag carefully on my shoulder, making sure it was stable, that I wasn't hurting her. I looked one last time at the empty crib, at