Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 269 I woke without knowing what time it was, only with the sense that sleep had completely abandoned me. The house was wrapped in a deep silence, broken only by the distant hum of London traffic drifting in through the windows. Beside me, Nate slept peacefully, his face relaxed into an expression of calm I rarely saw on him during the day. I slid carefully out of bed, trying not to wake him. I'd pulled on his shirt earlier-now it hung loose on me, the sleeves swallowing half my hands and the hem falling halfway down my thighs.

It was warm, soft, and carried his scent-a mix of woodsy notes and something quietly masculine that made me feel strangely at ease. Barefoot, I walked through the hallway, taking the chance to notice details I'd overlooked during our tense conversations or the intensity of the night before. Framed photographs lined the walls-some of Christian in what looked like business-trip settings, others of landscapes that hinted Nate liked to travel whenever he could. Then, passing a door left slightly ajar, something caught my eye.

The streetlight outside spilled a soft glow into the room, revealing the unmistakable silhouette of a grand piano. I pushed the door open gently and stepped inside, surprised by what I found. It was a full music room, the piano at its center. An acoustic guitar rested on a wooden stand. A shelf overflowed with neatly organized sheet music. And one whole wall was lined with an impressive vinyl collection. Nate had never mentioned playing any instrument, and discovering this part of him sparked a curiosity about how many other pieces of his life I still didn't know.

For a moment, a vague memory surfaced-something Wanderer had once said about music, about how he played the piano when he needed to relax. I shook my head quickly, pushing the thought away. It felt unfair to think of another man after a night like the one I'd just had with Nate, especially when I could still feel the warmth of his hands on my skin. I stepped closer to the vinyl shelves, impressed by the variety and the quality. Everything was there, from classic rock of the '60s to contemporary jazz, from classical composers to a few Verdanian artists that genuinely surprised me.

and from everything that had happened

moment. "Can't sleep?" he asked as he walked toward me, his steps quiet on the wooden floor. "My mind won't shut off," I admitted, watching the easy grace with which he moved. He approached with two steaming mugs that carried the warm, comforting scent of earl grey tea. He handed me one carefully, our fingers brushing for a brief, charged second. "Thank you," I murmured, wrapping both hands around the cup and letting the heat

From his tone alone, I suspected "a little" was a very watered-down version of the truth. He walked over to the

the shirt down to cover my legs a little better. The closeness between us felt comforting-so different from the electric tension we'd shared hours earlier. It was softer and more intimate

every room. Now, hearing him play this exact song, it felt like pieces of a puzzle were falling perfectly into place. Every note carried not just precision, but a