Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 269

Chapter 269

I woke without knowing what time it was, only with the sense that sleep had completely abandoned me. The house was wrapped in a deep silence, broken only by the distant hum of London traffic drifting in through the windows. Beside me, Nate slept peacefully, his face relaxed into an expression of calm I rarely saw on him during the day.

I slid carefully out of bed, trying not to wake him. I’d pulled on his shirt earlier-now it hung loose on me, the sleeves swallowing half my hands and the hem falling halfway down my thighs. It was warm, soft, and carried his scent-a mix of woodsy notes and something quietly masculine that made me feel strangely at ease.

Barefoot, I walked through the hallway, taking the chance to notice details I’d overlooked during our tense conversations or the intensity of the night before. Framed photographs lined the walls-some of Christian in what looked like business-trip settings, others of landscapes that hinted Nate liked to travel whenever he could.

Then, passing a door left slightly ajar, something caught my eye. The streetlight outside spilled a soft glow into the room, revealing the unmistakable silhouette of a grand piano. I pushed the door open gently and stepped inside, surprised by what I found.

It was a full music room, the piano at its center. An acoustic guitar rested on a wooden stand. A shelf overflowed with neatly organized sheet music. And one whole wall was lined with an impressive vinyl collection. Nate had never mentioned playing any instrument, and discovering this part of him sparked a curiosity about how many other pieces of his life I still didn’t know.

For a moment, a vague memory surfaced-something Wanderer had once said about music, about how he played the piano when he needed to relax. I shook my head quickly, pushing the thought away. It felt unfair to think of another man after a night like the one I’d just had with Nate, especially when I could still feel the warmth of his hands on my skin.

I stepped closer to the vinyl shelves, impressed by the variety and the quality. Everything was there, from classic rock of the ’60s to contemporary jazz, from classical composers to a few Verdanian artists that genuinely surprised me. I murmured under my breath, mostly to myself, “So many records…”

“I’ve been collecting for years,” Nate’s soft voice came from behind me, followed by a low laugh that made me spin around.

He stood in the doorway wearing only dark sweatpants, his hair completely tousled from sleep and from everything that had happened between us. There was something about seeing him like that-unfiltered, natural -that gave me a strange sense of déjà vu. For a split second, I remembered a photo Wanderer had sent-the masculine silhouette, the casual stance, and the soft light catching defined muscle.

I mentally scolded myself again and forced the thought away, giving Nate a small smile and pulling myself fully back into the moment.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked as he walked toward me, his steps quiet on the wooden floor.

“My mind won’t shut off,” I admitted, watching the easy grace with which he moved.

He approached with two steaming mugs that carried the warm, comforting scent of earl grey tea. He handed me one carefully, our fingers brushing for a brief, charged second.

“Thank you,” I murmured, wrapping both hands around the cup and letting the heat seep into my skin.

That was when I really noticed the piano, its polished surface reflecting the soft glow from the window. I pointed toward it, curiosity slipping into my voice.

“You never told me you played.”

Nate shrugged with his usual understated humility.

I felt him tense just slightly, like my question had pulled him back to the reality waiting outside this little bubble of intimacy we’d created.

“You still want me to go to the Imperial City?” I added, finally lifting my gaze to meet his.

Nate looked at me with an intensity that made me forget to breathe. There was something different in his expression-raw honesty that hadn’t been there in our earlier conversations about it.

“I never wanted that,” he said, the sincerity in his voice catching me off guard. “But I can’t be selfish with you.”

His answer hit me deep, revealing the internal battle he’d been fighting between what he wanted and what he believed was best for me.

“Does my opinion matter?” I asked, feeling a strange courage rise inside me from somewhere I couldn’t name.

“It’s the only one that matters,” he said without hesitation, his eyes locked on mine.

I smiled, finally feeling like we’d reached the moment we’d been avoiding. The decision wasn’t about my career or office politics anymore. It was about where I wanted to build my life. Who I wanted to share my quietest, most intimate moments with. Where my heart actually belonged.

“Then I want to stay.”