Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 102 The routine settled in faster than I expected. Mornings always started the same way-me waking before the alarm, rushing to the bathroom to fight off that stubborn wave of nausea that refused to leave, splashing cold water on my face, and brushing my teeth with a little too much determination, trying to erase any trace of it.

Then came the job hunt -résumés sent, polite interviews ending with tight smiles and the usual empty promise of "we'll be in touch." And on the nights Christian was in Solara for business meetings-which, thankfully, had become more frequent lately-there was a fleeting sense of normalcy. A purpose. Something that almost felt like a real marriage. "It's getting late." Christian stretched his arms above his head, his shoulders cracking after hours bent over the papers scattered across the dining table. "I think we're done for tonight." I nodded, collecting the empty coffee cups.

Christian had been sleeping at my apartment whenever he had work in Solara―an unspoken evolution of our arrangement that neither of us questioned. He'd just show up with a small suitcase, work until midnight, and then slide into bed beside me as if he'd been doing it forever. "What time's your flight tomorrow?" I asked, keeping my tone casual as I carried the dishes to the kitchen. "Nine-thirty." He rubbed his eyes, exhaustion softening the sharp lines of his face.

"Marcus needs me for the video call with Gwen before noon." That familiar ache bloomed in my chest-the quiet disappointment that always came the night before he left. One night. It was always just one night. Sometimes two, if we were lucky. Never enough. Christian appeared behind me, his arms slipping around my waist as I rinsed the cups. "What are you thinking about?" he murmured into my hair, his body warm and solid against my "Nothing important," I lied, leaning into him. "Just tired." His fingers traced slow, lazy circles over my hips, a touch that had become second nature. back.

a lot lately." There was concern in his voice. "Are you sure you're feeling okay?" "I'm fine." I turned in his arms, choosing to silence him with a kiss instead of admitting I still wasn't completely back to normal. He kissed me back without hesitation, but when we pulled apart, that shadow of worry was still in his eyes. "Maybe you should rest more. You've been

was one of the many things we'd discovered about each other in recent weeks-boundaries, quirks, nighttime habits. The kind of intimacy that only comes from sharing space. Later, in bed, as his fingers absentmindedly brushed through my hair, he broke the easy silence between us. "You know, you don't have to stress so much about those interviews," he said, his tone deliberately casual. "It's not like you need the money." 1/4

me. "We agreed I'd keep my own life. My independence. That includes my career." "Technically, you're

month." Christian propped himself up on his elbows, his face suddenly more serious. "Is it really so terrible that I worry about you? That I want to make things easier?" Something in his expression-honest, unguarded-softened the edge of my anger. "It's

start blurring those lines-" "The lines are already blurred, Zoey." He gestured between us, both of us naked in my bed, the room still heavy with the scent of sex. "I think we passed that point a long time ago." I couldn't argue with that. He was right, of course. Whatever we had now went far beyond a neat, cold contract printed on fancy paper. "Even so," I said, holding my ground. "I need

most stubborn, defiant trophy in history." "And don't you forget it." I nestled against his chest, the argument resolved-for now. The weeks slipped by after that. A sudden cold front hit Solara at the end of August. Christian's trips to the city became more frequent-meetings with

"Spend a few 2/4 days in Highridge. Joseph keeps asking about you." "I've got two interviews this week," I said, though the thought of returning