Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 135

“Finally home,” I sighed, unlocking the apartment door while Christian followed behind me.

“Home,” he echoed, pulling me into a gentle kiss before the door even closed. “Wherever you are.”

I smiled against his lips, feeling that familiar warmth spread through me. Of course, he wouldn’t be staying long –just until he was cleared to fly again, maybe a week or two. Then it would be back to our routine: him in Highridge Valley, me in Solara. But for now, for these precious few days, we’d have a taste of real domestic life. No hospital schedules, no nurses interrupting, no constant beeping monitors. Just us.

“It feels so good to be out of that place,” he said, breathing deeply like he was inhaling freedom. “To wake up without the sound of machines, to sleep without someone checking my vitals every two hours…”

“And to have your own private nurse,” I teased, giving him a playful look.

“Much better than the ones at the hospital,” he murmured, stealing another kiss.

Then he suddenly froze, frowning as his gaze swept over the walls and carpet.

“Oh my God…” he muttered, pointing to the faint purple stains still visible on the curtains and rug despite my best cleaning efforts. “Zoey, what happened here? It looks like someone committed a wine massacre.”

My cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

“Ah… that,” I mumbled, avoiding his eyes. “I kind of… lost it. After you left that night. I broke the Sunvale bottles against the wall.”

“You broke-” Christian stopped, processing that, then burst out laughing. “You literally threw wine at the wall?”

“In my defense, I was really mad,” I protested. “And hurt. And maybe slightly unhinged thanks to pregnancy hormones. Plus, you had just accused me of cheating.”

“For which I’ve already apologized,” he said, his tone softening before amusement crept back in. “But still… you could’ve at least used better wine if you were going to redecorate. Sunvale? Really, Zoey? My reputation is in ruins just knowing those stains are in my wife’s apartment.”

“Sorry I didn’t use a 1985 Baraillo for my emotional breakdown,” I shot back, but couldn’t help smiling.

“The next time you decide to express your rage through wine-based violence,” he said, pulling me into his arms, “at least use something from our own vineyard. Better for the brand image.”

“The next time?” I raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning on making me that mad again?”

“God forbid,” he said quickly, kissing my forehead. “Almost dying once was more than enough.”

Christian dropped his suitcase in the bedroom-our bedroom, the familiar space where he’d stayed so many times before-but I caught the look on his face when he glanced at the regular-sized double bed.

“It’s going to be interesting, sleeping here for a whole week,” I said, amused by his faint discomfort. “You’ve never stayed anywhere this small for so long, have you?”

“It’s not the size that worries me,” he said diplomatically as he unpacked a few things. “It’s… cozy.”

“But?” I pressed, knowing there was a “but” coming.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify