Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 366 Madeline's POV Silence. That was all that remained between us after I finished telling my story. My words still seemed to hang in the m tropical night air, blending with the distant sound of the waves and the low murmur of other couples dining at nearby tables. I kept my eyes fixed on the wineglass in front of me, watching the candlelight shimmer in the dark red liquid, because looking at Apollo right then felt impossible. I'd told him everything. Or almost everything. I'd talked about the betrayal I discovered on what should have been the happiest day of my life.

About finding my fiancé, whose real name I never mentioned, with the woman I believed was my best friend, plotting to use my marriage as currency in a game far bigger than anything I'd ever imagined. I'd talked about my parents, about realizing they not only knew everything but were willing accomplices, ready to sacrifice me for the so- called "greater good" of the family. I hadn't gone into specifics. I hadn't mentioned Sullivan Parks. I hadn't talked about illegal casinos. I hadn't named names. But I'd told him about the pain.

About what it felt like to realize that two of the people I trusted most in the world had never truly loved me. That I'd only ever been a convenient piece on a board they'd been playing for years. My voice had cracked more than once as I spoke. At times, I'd had to stop entirely, take a deep breath, and force the words out. My hands shook when I talked about hearing their plans through a half-open door, about how casually they discussed my future as if I were property to be negotiated.

lifting my eyes from the glass to look at him, "I realized I was never a bride. I was just the most valuable bargaining chip in a game I never chose to play." I swallowed. "And the worst part? The worst part was that my feelings clearly didn't understand the scale of it all because... because when I stopped to think about it, he was still the

into fists on the table, the muscle that tightened in his jaw when I talked about the betrayal, the way his eyes narrowed when I mentioned my parents' complicity. "Then don't think," he finally said. "That's why

family empire." His words hit me harder than I expected. This wasn't generic sympathy. It was specific. Raw. As if he understood not because he was imagining it, but because he'd lived it. "You talk like someone who knows," I said carefully. He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing how much he could reveal without

in his answer I couldn't fully decipher. Who was he, really? Someone from an influential family too? Someone who, like me, wasn't just running from a specific past, but from a name, a legacy,