Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Zoey’s POV

I ran. Without direction, without purpose-just away. Away from that scene. Away from him.

The image of Christian and Francesca so close, their lips nearly touching, burned in my mind like a hot brand. ” Don’t worry. It’s over,” he had said before walking out. Now I finally understood what those words really meant.

I wasn’t supposed to care. This was a deal, nothing more. Christian Kensington owed me no fidelity, no loyalty beyond what we had agreed upon. So why did my chest ache like I’d taken a punch? Why was my vision blurred with tears that refused to stop falling?

My steps carried me through the gardens, then into the vineyards, the moonlight lighting my way between the rows of vines. The blue dress that had seemed so perfect hours ago now tangled around my knees, slowing my escape. Not that it mattered where I was going. There was no running from myself, from the traitorous emotions clawing at me.

I finally stopped, breathless, at a small overlook on top of a hill. From there, I could see the illuminated mansion, the influencer event still buzzing below, the tiny figures moving like colorful ants. How could something seem so distant and so suffocating at the same time?

“Quite the view, isn’t it?”

The deep voice startled me. Joseph Kensington stood only a few steps away, staring at the same landscape, his hands resting on a cane I hadn’t noticed before.

“Mr. Kensington…” I murmured, quickly wiping at my tears. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“This is my favorite place on the entire estate.” He moved toward me slowly, the cane tapping softly against the stone ground. “I come here every night, when the weather allows. It helps clear the mind.”

I nodded, unsure what to say. Had he noticed my state? The wrinkled dress, my red eyes, the makeup surely ruined?

“Christian told me you don’t like crowds.” He glanced at me briefly. “My late wife was the same. She preferred the company of the vines to the company of people.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said automatically.

Joseph smiled, a smile that transformed his otherwise severe face.

“It was long ago. Almost twenty years now.” He looked back at the horizon. “But some people never truly leave us, do they?”

I didn’t know how to answer, so I kept quiet, feeling uncomfortable-like an intruder in a private moment.

“You know, when Christian was a boy,” Joseph continued, seemingly unfazed by my silence, “he used to come here with me. We’d sit on that bench over there, and I’d tell him stories about each plot of vineyard we could see. How every section has its own character, its own personality.”

I looked at the stone bench he indicated, imagining a young Christian sitting there, soaking in his grandfather’s lessons, growing up under the weight of the Kensington legacy on his small shoulders.

“He’s a good man, my dear.” Joseph’s tone was almost paternal now. “He doesn’t always know how to show what he feels, but he has a good heart.”

My stomach tightened. Joseph was trying to reassure me, convinced that my flight from the stage had been out of insecurity, not because I was suffocating under the weight of the lie we were living

“You must be very proud of him,” I said softly.

“More than he realizes.” Joseph looked me straight in the eyes, his penetrating gaze as if it could see into my soul. “When I saw him with you, Zoey, I saw something I hadn’t seen in a long time. A different light in his eyes.”

My face grew hot. If Joseph knew the truth… if he knew this was all a farce, a business arrangement dressed as romance…

“He was hurt deeply, you know.” His voice lowered. “That woman, Francesca… she nearly destroyed not only the business, but Christian himself. What she did…”

My heart pounded. So Joseph hated Francesca too. What would he say if he knew that, at that very moment, she was probably in his grandson’s arms?

“Finally, he’s found someone worthy of the Kensington family.” Joseph smiled again, placing a wrinkled hand over mine. “Someone authentic. I can recognize it when I see it, my dear. It’s a gift I’ve developed after decades of negotiations.”

Each word felt like a tiny dagger. Worthy of the Kensington family? Me-a dress seller with debts, from a simple family, who had never even left the country? Who knew nothing about wine or international business? Who was here only because of a financial deal? O

And authentic? The irony was almost unbearable. Nothing about this situation was authentic.

“Thank you,” I managed to murmur, feeling like the worst person in the world.

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