Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 342 Alexandra's POV The hotel ballroom was absolutely breathtaking. Crystal chandeliers spilled golden light over elegantly dressed guests drifting between tables adorned with white and green floral arrangements that echoed the event's environmental theme. I smiled with satisfaction as I took it all in. Hundreds of important people were gathered in one place, completely unaware of the fireworks they were about to witness. 1 hosen a blood-red Valentino gown for the occasion, a deliberately provocative choice that stood out against the more conservative tones around me.

I wanted to be noticed. I wanted everyone to remember me on this historic night. I moved through the room with the confidence of someone holding privileged information, greeting acquaintances with calculated smiles while my mind mapped out the next moves. Every conversation, every handshake, every exchanged glance was part of a carefully orchestrated symphony that was nearing its devastating climax. I spotted Annabelle and Nate near the head table. She was glowing in an emerald-green dress that, I had to admit, fit her perfectly, while he was flawless in a tuxedo. The perfect couple.

They were the picture of prosperity and marital bliss. How delicious it would be to watch that façade crumble in public. "Alexandra," Nate greeted when I approached, his tone polite but just slightly tense. "Nathaniel. Annabelle," I replied with my most charming smile. "I must congratulate you on the engagement. I truly hope it lasts longer than the stability of Kensington's stock. I saw Annie's brow crease ever so slightly, clearly trying to decide whether my words carried a veiled threat.

Nate, on the other hand, kept his expression neutral, though I noticed his fingers tighten subtly around his champagne flute. "Thank you for the well wishes," Annie said diplomatically. "Oh, my dear, they're completely sincere," I assured her, lightly touching her arm in a theatrical show of affection. "You both deserve all the happiness you can get... while it lasts." 11 I let the words hang in the air for a moment before moving on, savoring the almost tangible tension I'd left behind. Just an appetizer for what was coming.

Christian and Zoey speaking with a group of investors near the bar. Zoey looked stunning, as always, overseeing every detail of the event with the professional efficiency that had earned her so much respect within the company. "Zoey, darling,"

look, clearly trying to read my intentions. He'd always been too perceptive for his own good. But this time, even his strategic mind wouldn't be enough to stop what was coming. 1/3 +25 Bonus I drifted away from the group and began making my

maximum financial panic in the shortest possible time. I approached Sir Edmund Hartwell, one of Kensington's oldest and most influential shareholders, who was chatting with his wife near the windows overlooking a dazzling, illuminated London skyline. "Sir Edmund," I said in a confidential tone, positioning myself so only he could hear. "May I have a private d?" He

your shares before the market opens tomorrow. The stock is going to plummet, and you know I'm never wrong about these things." I watched his eyes widen, concern instantly replacing his initial curiosity. Sir Edmund had built much of his fortune by acting on exactly this kind of privileged tip over the years. "Are you absolutely certain?"

that reached me just today. It's devastating, but anyone who acts quickly can still minimize their losses." I repeated versions of that same conversation with at least six other major investors over the next hour, always choosing discreet moments, always adopting the tone of someone sharing sensitive information out of personal loyalty. With growing satisfaction, I

men. By the end of the night, dozens of people would be planning to dump their Kensington shares at the first opportunity. Around ten o'clock, it was time for the final move. I scanned the room until I spotted my special contact, the international journalist I'd carefully cultivated through strategic correspondence. Mark Brennan of the Financial Tribune, a respected

a slim leather envelope into his hands. Inside were copies of every document Marcus had given me-falsified reports, incriminating emails, more than enough evidence to spark a scandal that would take down not just the new product line, but