Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 472 Madeline's POV We got back to Marcus's apartment in Belmonte in the late afternoon, the sun already beginning to set, washing the wide windows in shades of orange. Marcus closed the door behind us and turned to me, his expression heavy with genuine concern. "How are you feeling?" The question was simple, but it carried so much weight. How was I feeling after burying my father? After watching Dominic play the role of the perfect son-in-law? After my mother's quiet, urgent warning?

"Still very shaken emotionally," I admitted, feeling the exhaustion of the day settle into my bones. "But right now, I just want to focus on our daughter. I can't let myself get stressed anymore." The nurse's warning about the worsened placental abruption echoed constantly in my mind. Every tense moment, every spike of anxiety, felt like a potential risk to the baby. To our daughter. Marcus nodded and stepped closer, pressing a light kiss to my shoulder. The gesture was so natural, so instinctive, that it made me realize just how used I'd become to his steady, comforting presence.

"You can count on me for whatever you need," he said softly. I closed my eyes for a moment, absorbing the warmth of him before answering. "Right now, all I need is a really hot bath and some comfort food." I felt Marcus smile against my shoulder before he pulled back. "Take as long as you want in the tub," he said. "I'll handle ordering something good for dinner." I headed upstairs to the bathroom, grateful for the promise of a few quiet moments. I filled the tub with hot water, added some bath salts I found in the cabinet, and sank into the warmth with a sigh of relief.

rising in soft clouds, the gentle scent of the salts. But my mind wouldn't slow down, spinning obsessively around everything that had happened. Why hadn't Dominic spoken to me? He'd been there, just a few feet away, with every opportunity in the world to approach me during the funeral. Why hadn't he tried anything? No threats. No intimidation. No

villain of the story. "An attempted murder is intimidating enough, Madeline," I whispered to myself, my voice echoing softly off the tiled bathroom walls. "He doesn't

into something comfortable and started gathering the clothes I'd worn that day to throw them in the wash. The black dress I'd chosen for

hands, searching for some indication of who had put it there-or what it contained. On