Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 144

Chapter 144

Christian had been hunched over the dining table for more than two hours, poring over the files Alex had pulled from Elise’s computer. Hard drives, printed emails, passwords and logins, chat backups, screenshots of bank transfers-a mountain of data spread before us like the pieces of some dark, intricate puzzle.

“Found anything?” I asked, walking over with two steaming mugs of coffee.

He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair, the exhaustion written all over his face. The dark circles under his eyes said it all-he hadn’t slept much, if at all.

“Aside from the obvious? Not much,” he admitted, taking the cup from me and sipping. “There are a lot of exchanges with Francesca-some of them a little too personal-plus a few suspicious transfers and Euradian contacts I don’t recognize. But nothing that’s an outright confession. Nothing we can use in court, at least not yet?

I picked up one of the printed emails, scanning the dense text filled with technical jargon and business references. Some of the names looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite connect the dots.

“So what now?” I asked, frustration tightening my chest.

“I’ll hand everything to the Kensington IT division,” Christian said, methodically sorting the documents into neat piles. “They have forensic tools that can go deeper-recover deleted files, trace IPs, analyze metadata. That kind of digital digging is out of my league.”

A chill ran down my spine at the thought of bringing more people into this. Even Kensington employees made me uneasy.

“Are you absolutely sure you can trust them?” I pressed, unable to hide the worry in my voice.

Christian froze mid-motion, then met my eyes. His expression was calm, steady-unflinchingly certain.

“There are a few people I can trust completely,” he said firmly. “People who’ve been with the family for decades, handpicked by Joseph himself when he still ran things. They’ve proven their loyalty time and again. Not everyone in the company, of course-but a few. And those few, I trust without hesitation.”

I nodded slowly, trying to silence the paranoia clawing at the back of my mind. Every decision, every face, every sound outside the window felt like a potential threat.

“How about we go out for dinner?” Christian suggested suddenly, closing the laptop with a decisive click. ” There’s that little Valentian place you loved last time. We can walk. Get some fresh air. Try to clear our heads for a bit.”

The idea sounded perfect. We’d been practically trapped inside for days, buried under tension and investigation. A normal dinner, a small slice of peace, sounded like exactly what we needed.

“Perfect,” I agreed right away, heading to the bedroom for a light jacket.

The night air was cool and crisp as we strolled down the busy street. Christian held my hand tightly, fingers laced with mine, but I could still feel how tense he was. His gaze kept flicking around-checking alleyways, scanning faces, watching every slow-moving car.

“You’re being paranoid,” I said, though even to my own ears, it didn’t sound convincing.

“I don’t give a damn if I’m paranoid,” Christian snapped, his tone unyielding as he started pulling me back toward home. “I’m not waiting around to find out what happens next. I won’t risk you or our child because of pride or blind optimism.”

“What exactly are you saying?” I asked, even though deep down, I already knew.

“I’m saying we’re going home right now,” he said, his voice steady and absolute. “We’ll pack tonight, and we’re leaving Solara in the morning. We’re going to the family estate in Highridge-somewhere safe, somewhere I can actually protect you.”

“Christian…”

“No, Zoey,” he said firmly, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and turning to face me fully. His expression was all steel and resolve. “First they tried to kill me with a car, now they nearly ran you down with a motorcycle. I’m not standing around waiting to see what their next creative attempt looks like.”

I stared at him, seeing the fierce determination in his eyes-the kind that left no room for debate. There was no argument, no logic, no plea that would move him from this decision.

“Okay,” I whispered finally, giving in to the inevitability of it. “We’ll go.”