Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 311

Chapter 311

The first thing I registered as I started to come back to consciousness was the crushing headache, like someone was repeatedly hammering the inside of my skull. Then came the dizziness. It was a sickening, rolling sensation, as if the world were spinning in slow, uneven circles, paired with a desperate urge to vomit that intensified every time I tried to move even slightly.

I tried to orient myself, blinking several times to focus my vision, which felt blurry around the edges. Where was I? The last clear memory I had was being at the Rosemont party, talking to Tori, feeling progressively worse… and then nothing. A complete blank. The gap in my memory scared me almost as much as my physical condition.

I slowly looked around, every movement of my head sending fresh waves of pain through my skull. I was in a room. A hotel room, from what I could make out through my hazy vision. The curtains were closed, blocking out any natural light that might’ve helped me tell what time it was. A single bedside lamp cast a dim glow, creating unsettling shadows that flickered at the edges of my compromised sight.

Had I come upstairs with Nate? If that were the case, where was he now? And why did I feel like I’d been hit by a truck? I didn’t remember drinking that much at the party. One glass of wine. That was it. Nowhere near enough

to leave me this weak and disoriented.

I forced my foggy mind to retrace the night. I remembered talking to that Eisenwald man… Klaus. Klaus Reinhardt. He’d offered me wine. We’d talked. And then-

That was when I heard a male voice coming from the other side of the room, near a table I hadn’t realized someone was sitting at.

“Relax, she’s still out,” the voice said into a phone, chewing audibly between words.

My blood ran cold.

Where was the refined Eisenwald accent? The voice I heard now was completely different-rougher, with an accent that definitely wasn’t Eisenwald. It was as if Klaus Reinhardt had been replaced by an entirely different

person.

“I’ll just finish this feast and then…” he continued, followed by a low laugh that made my nausea spike. “Then I’ve got dessert waiting for me.”

The meaning behind his words hit me like a punch to the stomach. The urge to vomit surged violently-no longer from the headache or dizziness, but from pure terror.

I had to get out. I had to get out now, before he finished his call and decided it was time for that so-called ” dessert.”

But my body refused to cooperate with the frantic commands my mind was screaming at it. My limbs felt heavy and uncoordinated, like they were disconnected from my brain entirely.

I glanced around carefully, trying not to make any sudden movements that might draw his attention. My phone was on the nightstand beside the bed. So close. It should’ve been simple. Just reach out and grab it. But my arm felt useless, limp and unreliable, like it belonged to someone else.

I tried to lift it slowly. It trembled, then nearly collapsed back onto the mattress. It was as if my muscles had forgotten how to function. On the second attempt, I managed to extend my fingers toward the phone, but my

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aim was completely off, missing it by several inches. Finally, on the third careful, focused try, my fingers brushed the cool surface of the device and closed around it like a lifeline.

Nate.

I needed Nate. I needed someone to know where I was. I needed help. I needed someone to come get me out of this nightmare beforc

With shaking fingers and blurred vision, I tried to unlock the phone. Somehow, facial recognition worked despite my condition, and the screen lit up. Navigating to Nate’s chat was another battle. The icons seemed to sway and drift, making it hard to tap the right spot. Eventually, I managed to open our conversation and, with what little coordination I had left, typed the only word I could manage.

“What are you doing?” The voice was suddenly much closer.

He turned abruptly, cutting off his phone call, and now he was staring at me with an expression that mixed irritation with something far darker.

I barely had time to hit send before pain exploded across my face. The slap was so hard it snapped my head violently to the side, and my phone flew from my hand, landing somewhere on the carpet with a dull thud. Tears instantly welled up in my eyes, but I refused to cry in front of him. I would not give that monster the satisfaction of seeing me break.

“So you woke up,” he said, his voice laced with a disturbing kind of satisfaction. “I was hoping you

would.”

Before I could react or try to pull away, he moved closer and forced a kiss on me. I struggled. I tried to fight him off. But my body was operating at a fraction of its normal strength. It felt like a nightmare where you try to run and your legs won’t move, where you try to scream and no sound comes out.

That was when the horrifying realization fully hit me.

I hadn’t drunk too much at the party.

Someone had put something in my drink.

This entire situation had been planned. Carefully orchestrated. I wasn’t the victim of bad luck. I was the target.

“I don’t really like it when women are so… cold in bed, if you know what I mean,” he muttered, his breath hot and nauseatingly close. “I prefer a little more… resistance.”

He shoved me back onto the bed, and my head struck the headboard hard enough to send stars bursting behind my closed eyes. The pain was so sharp that for a split second I couldn’t tell whether the explosive sounds I heard were fireworks outside celebrating the new year, or my own skull ringing from the impact.

“Let me go,” I tried to say, but my voice came out weak and slurred, barely audible.

“Let you go?” he laughed. It was a sound completely devoid of humanity. “But the fun is just getting started.”

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