Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 322 The call came two days after the improvised party at Nate's house. We were having coffee together in the kitchen, talking through the apartments we were going to tour. He'd scheduled five different options in neighborhoods he thought I'd love. Suddenly, Nate's phone rang, the precinct's number flashing on the screen. "We need you to come in again for a few clarifications," Detective Thompson said on the other end, his tone professional but not urgent. "Routine matters. Fact-checking. Verifying a few details from the statements.

Nothing too complicated, but it's necessary for the case." My stomach tightened instantly, like someone had cinched a hard knot right in the center of my abdomen. The breakfast I'd been enjoying seconds earlier suddenly lost all flavor, my mouth going dry. I'd thought the hardest part was over. I'd thought I could finally start processing the trauma in peace, at my own pace, without being forced to relive the most disturbing details of that terrible night.

"It's incredibly traumatic to have to go over everything again," I admitted to Nate as we drove to the station, watching the familiar London streets slide past the window without really seeing them. "Every time I have to tell the story again, it feels like I'm being dragged back into that room. Back into that feeling of desperation and vulnerability. Sometimes I just want to let it go, move on, and pretend none of this ever happened." It was true. Part of me wanted to erase James Morrison from existence. To pretend Alexandra had no power over my life. To forget that night altogether.

I wanted to go back to the simplicity of worrying about work reports and which movie to watch with Nate in the evening. Nate reached for my hand over the gearshift, squeezing it with steady reassurance, his fingers threading through mine in that way that always calmed me. "I understand completely," he said gently, the way he always did when I was vulnerable. "No one should have to relive trauma over and over just to satisfy legal bureaucracy. But I also know you're strong enough to get through it.

And more than that, I know you want to make sure James stays in prison for as long as possible, so he can never do to another woman what he almost did to you." He was right, of course. If my testimony could prevent someone else from suffering at James's hands, then the personal discomfort was worth it. The police station was a gray, institutional building that smelled of old coffee and industrial cleaning products. We learned that the case had grown far larger and more complex than either of us had initially expected.

far. All with disturbingly similar stories to yours." "That's... does that strengthen the case against him?" I asked hesitantly, trying to process the legal implications while managing the emotional weight of it all. "Very much so," Thompson confirmed without hesitation. "Multiple victims with consistent evidence and a clear behavioral pattern make

many years. The conversation was interrupted when David Richardson arrived. Nate's lawyer who was an experienced criminal attorney he'd hired to represent me throughout the process, walked in

was known for his skill în complex criminal cases and his impressive success rate, which made his current look even more unsettling. "Good news and bad news," he said without preamble, taking a seat across from us at the conference

his notes, then looked up at us with a grave expression. "James Morrison has said absolutely nothing about Alexandra Kensington," Richardson said bluntly, without sugarcoating

knowledge from any third party." "That's absolutely ridiculous!" I burst out, indignation and frustration burning through my chest like acid. " And the photos that were sent to the company gossip group? How does he explain that part?" Richardson glanced back down at his notes,

an ex- girlfriend

deliberately leaked the photos into the company group to cause maximum embarrassment and professional damage." Nate and I exchanged