Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 471 Madeline's POV The cemetery was already crowded when we arrived, the service well underway. Marcus had tracked down all the details for me-the time, the location, everything about the burial-since technically not even my own mother knew I was in Verdania. But Dominic certainly did. That certainty hung over me like a dark cloud as we walked through the discreet entrance Marcus had found. He stayed close at my side, his presence solid and grounding, while two security guards followed at a careful distance-far enough not to draw attention, close enough to react instantly if needed.

They were alert to every step we took, every person who came too close. The paranoia that had become my constant companion since the jet attack intensified as I took in the dozens of people gathered around my father's coffin. I watched the ceremony from afar, strategically positioned beneath the shade of an old tree, wanting to draw as little attention as possible. Not only because of the very real danger of being seen there, but also because I genuinely didn't want to be approached by that crowd of false sympathizers who would offer condolences while silently judging me.

I knew those looks all too well. The ungrateful daughter who had run away from her marriage. The woman who had stressed her father into yet another heart attack. The daughter who hadn't been at his bedside because she'd "run off" with another man to another country. After all, the kidnapping story had fallen apart a long time ago. No one had ever reported Marcus. And here I was, standing openly beside my supposed captor. I could practically hear the whispers rippling through the crowd, each person crafting their own version of my absence and sudden return.

a selfish daughter who had abandoned everyone on a whim. And then my eyes found Dominic. He stood right at the front, beside my mother, perfectly playing the role of the grieving son-in-law.

wave of nausea so strong I thought I might throw up right there in front of everyone. There was something in his gaze-a silent promise, a veiled threat. Marcus must have felt my sudden tension, because his hand found mine, our fingers interlacing in a steadying grip that pulled me back to

of platitudes about eternal life and well-earned rest- 1/2 empty phrases that didn't come close to capturing the complexity of the man being laid to rest. My father hadn't been a saint, but he also wasn't only the controlling tyrant my adult memories so often reduced him to. As the

contact with anyone present. The security guards followed at a respectful distance-professional enough not to draw attention, close enough to intervene if necessary. We were almost at the exit when I heard a voice behind me. "Madeline?" Hearing my name spoken in that