Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 122

Chapter 122

Christian’s POV

I sat in the car and started the engine, but I couldn’t bring myself to drive off right away. My hands were shaking on the steering wheel, my mind still reeling from what had just happened upstairs. Zoey’s face-devastated, tear- streaked, looking at me like I was a stranger-was burned into my memory.

Eventually, I managed to pull away from the curb, driving aimlessly through the streets of Solara. I didn’t have a destination. I just needed distance-from that apartment, from those bottles of wine, from the damn card whose words had shattered what was supposed to be a perfect night.

The traffic was light for a Friday evening, and before I realized it, I was heading toward the Rosemont Hotel, the same place I always stayed when I was in Solara. It was automatic-my default move whenever things got complicated. I’d retreat. Shut down.

But as the minutes passed, something started to gnaw at me from the inside. It wasn’t just anger or confusion anymore. It was something heavier. Something sharper.

Guilt.

At a red light, I closed my eyes and let the scene replay in my head. Zoey saying she didn’t understand the card. Zoey explaining that Edward had sent the wines. Zoey begging me not to leave.

And me-comparing her to Francesca.

Damn it.

The light turned green, and I drove on, but my thoughts were spiraling in a different direction now. I started dissecting everything-every reaction, every word I’d thrown at her.

Zoey had never given me a single reason to doubt her. Not once. In all the months we’d been together, she’d been open with me about everything-sometimes too open, even when it hurt her.

When we found out Joseph knew about the contract, she told me immediately. When she had problems with Sunvale, she was upfront about them. Zoey wasn’t someone who hid things; she was the kind of person who laid her heart bare, even when it made her vulnerable.

So why the hell had I treated her like a criminal?

The answer hit hard and ugly. Francesca.

Years of living with someone who lied to my face every single day. Years of betrayal, of being played while she smiled sweetly and sold out my family’s secrets. That kind of wound doesn’t just heal-it burrows deep, festers quietly, and resurfaces when you least expect it.

But Zoey wasn’t Francesca. Zoey couldn’t be Francesca.

I stopped at another light, gripping the wheel as the weight of what I’d done finally sank in. I’d accused the woman I loved of betraying me-based on what, exactly? A card from Edward and a few bottles of wine she hadn’t even opened?

How could I have been so damn stupid?

She told me she didn’t understand it, and I should’ve believed her. End of story. I shouldn’t have let my past poison my judgment. I shouldn’t have let old ghosts dictate how I treated the woman who had stood by me, who Joseph adored like a real granddaughter, who had become home to me.

The woman I was hopelessly in love with.

God, I loved her. And love wasn’t about suspicion. It was about trust. About giving the person you chose the benefit of the doubt, even when things didn’t make sense. About believing in her when everything else made you question it.

But for one awful moment-for several long, torturous minutes-I’d let my scars speak louder than my heart. I’d let Francesca’s ghost come between Zoey and me.

The city lights shimmered across the bay as I realized I was halfway between her apartment and the hotel. I could keep driving. Go to the hotel, pour a drink, shut everything out, and deal with this later when we were both calmer.

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