Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 223 I got home at six thirty after a day that felt like it would never end. Even though I'd managed to redeem myself in the break room earlier, I was still emotionally drained. Between the leftover humiliation from the party, the weird sense of relief after swapping bad date stories, and that message I couldn't stop thinking about, my brain was running on fumes. I kicked off my shoes the second I walked into the apartment, tossed my bag on the couch, and realized I had absolutely nothing for dinner.

The fridge held a single expired yogurt and some leftovers I couldn't remember ordering. "Pizza it is," I muttered to the empty apartment, grabbing my phone to order from my favorite place. While I waited, I opened a bottle of wine I had "borrowed" from the office. Perks of working at Kensington. Then I collapsed onto the couch. The quiet in the apartment suddenly felt too loud, too lonely. Moments like this made London feel farther from Verdania than any map ever could. No familiar voices. No comforting chaos of my parents' house.

Without overthinking it, I grabbed my phone and sent a message to Zoey, [I miss our pajama nights. Want to do a video call and watch a movie 'together'? Like old times?] Her reply came faster than expected, [I love the idea, but Matt is with the grandparents tonight, and what Christian and I planned does not involve pajamas or anything suitable for a video call.] I laughed out loud in the empty room. [Gross, but jealous. Now I have to erase that mental image.] [You asked! But really, how about tomorrow?

We can marathon something cheesy and you can tell me all about your London love life.] [My love life is an epic disaster. Better talk about something else.] [Which is exactly why I need to hear everything. Love you, baby sis!] I set th e aside with a smile, but the silence crept back in. The pizza arrived twenty minutes later, a simple that paired perfectly with the wine. I settled onto the couch and put on The Third Man on Netflix. It ng, considering my recent obsession with mysterious men. ut as the movie played, my mind kept drifting back to that message.

There was something about the way it was written. A certain elegance. A strange familiarity I couldn't place. Who talked about London getting "brighter" with the right company in such a poetic tone? By nine o'clock, I couldn't resist anymore. I paused the movie, grabbed my phone, and opened the dating app. The message was still there, staring back at me. [I love that you want to 'explore the city together.' I have a theory London gets brighter with the right company. Can you confirm it?] I tapped his profile for the first time, ready to investigate. What I found only pulled me in deeper.

vague. A silhouette against the Thames' sunset. A shadow walking across Tower Bridge. A shot taken from behind in Regent's Park, showing broad shoulders under a sleek coat but no visible face. Another image showed only well-kept masculine hands holding an old book, a cup of coffee blurred in the background. It was frustrating and intriguing at

photos didn't feel dishonest. They felt... intentional. Artistic. Like he wanted to show a lifestyle and a personality without giving away a face. And the body I could glimpse in the shots was

block the profile. Every self-preservation instinct I'd

someone as mysterious as you makes me feel

Five minutes, ten, then fifteen. There was nothing. "Ridiculous ing the phone down harder than necessary. determined not to think

on the app, but to other things I'd been trying Lo bury since Friday night. The way Nate had shown up out of nowhere when Charles wouldn't back off. That perfect punch. His instinctive protectiveness. The way he guided me out of the chaos. The truth was I couldn't stop thinking about that moment. About how safe I'd felt when he put his hand on my back. About the fury in his eyes when he saw Charles grabbing me.

again, rereading it for the tenth time. [Your theory about a sunnier London sounds promising, but exploring the city with someone as mysterious as you makes me feel like I'm in a Hitchcock film. Should I worry about