Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 390 Olivia's POV The yoga studio was quieter than usual when I finished locking the front door. The evening class had been ecially calm-only five students, all regulars who preferred the serenity of the 8 p.m. session over the chaos of the morning rush. Normally, I loved this moment at the end of the day, when the peaceful energy of a good practice still lingered in the air. But for the past two days, nothing had felt normal. Nothing felt calm. Madeline had vanished since the morning before, after going to the doctor with Vivian. Since then, total silence. Her phone was off.

No replies to messages. It was as if she'd simply evaporated. And worst of all, Vivian wasn't answering my calls either. When she finally did respond, it was only to say she was "handling the situation" and that I shouldn't worry. Exactly the kind of answer that sent me straight into panic mode. I'd tried to file a missing person report that morning, but the experience had been humiliating. The officer who spoke to me was a middle-aged man with a bored expression and a sarcastic tone. He looked at me like I was an overdramatic, neurotic relative.

"Isn't this the 'cousin' who disappeared on her wedding day and then turned up in a rehab clinic?" he'd asked, making air quotes around cousin, as if he doubted we were even related. I couldn't deny that Madeline's recent disappearances made the whole thing sound like the boy who cried wolf. First the dramatic escape from the wedding. Then the period when she was "unreachable," which Vivian had explained away as emotional recovery. And now, another disappearance.

To anyone on the outside, it probably looked like the erratic behavior of an unstable woman who periodically ran away from her own life. But to me, someone who'd known Madeline since childhood, who could read every subtle change in her expression, every shift in her voice when she was truly afraid, it was obvious that something very serious was happening. The problem was getting anyone else to take me seriously. I walked across the poorly lit parking lot of the shopping complex where the studio was located, my car keys rattling inside my bag.

leaving patches of shadow I usually never even noticed. Tonight, every shadow looked like a potential hiding place. I stopped abruptly when I reached my car. "Shit," I muttered out loud, the word echoing through the empty lot. The back right

I could call an Uber, but it would take at least twenty minutes to arrive if I was lucky. It was still rush hour, and drivers would probably be cherry-picking better rides. Or I could just walk home since I didn't live far, maybe a fifteen-minute walk

my world, the idea of walking alone rough the streets at night didn't feel so simple anymore. Even so, standing there doing nothing wasn't a better option. I locked the car and started walking toward my apartment, phone in hand, every sense on high alert. The first few blocks were calm-people walking their dogs, the distant sound of TVs through apartment windows, the occasional car

deliberately slowed down, pretending to search through my bag. The footsteps slowed too. My heart began

up too, no longer bothering to hide. I managed to reach my street, but when I turned toward my building, I realized there was another man blocking the way. I was trapped. I backed up a few steps, my hand