Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 378

Chapter 378

Madeline’s POV

“So, which of these options do you prefer?” The pastry chef smiled as she arranged an elaborate selection of

eets on the white marble table of her boutique. The place was one of those expensive Belmonte spots-pale pink walls, crystal chandeliers, and a display case that looked more like a jewelry store than a bakery. “We have gourmet pistachio chocolate truffles, coconut truffles with Brazilian nuts, caramel fudge bites made with artisanal dulce de leche, and mini Belgian chocolate éclairs that have been a huge hit at this season’s events.”

I sat between Olivia and Vivian in one of the boutique’s velvet armchairs, trapped in yet another endless session of perfect wedding preparations. My morning sickness had eased up that day, but the overly sweet, perfumed smell of the place still made my stomach churn. Every sugary scent felt like a reminder of the carefully constructed lie being built around me.

“At the last family party, they were delicious,” Vivian said brightly, delicately picking up a coconut truffle to try it. “Too bad the bride ran away before she got a taste, right?”

The pastry chef laughed politely, but I caught the flash of discomfort in her eyes. Everyone in Belmonte knew the official story-the sudden nervous breakdown, the stay at a luxury psychiatric clinic, the miraculous recovery, the triumphant return for a new wedding. Even so, comments like Vivian’s made me want to sink into the chair and disappear.

“Well, this time we’ll make sure everything goes absolutely perfectly,” the pastry chef said diplomatically, refocusing on the neatly arranged samples.

I picked up a caramel fudge and chewed it mechanically, trying to look genuinely interested in something that felt completely meaningless. What difference did the flavor of the sweets make when the entire event was an elaborate performance? When every guest would be there not to celebrate love, but to witness a business contract disguised as a ceremony?

Beside me, Olivia stayed quiet, watching everything with that analytical gaze I knew so well. She sampled the sweets, made polite comments about texture and flavor, but I could feel her mind was somewhere else entirely.

“I was thinking…” Olivia said suddenly, pulling me out of the dark spiral in my head. “Madeline really needs to relax over these next few weeks before the big day. Why don’t you take some yoga classes with me? I’ve read everywhere that it’s great for the baby, and it’ll help calm your nerves during all this pre-wedding stress.”

I looked up, surprised by the unexpected suggestion. Olivia had never proposed doing things together in front of Vivian before. We usually kept our real closeness far from the constant, watchful eyes of my devoted maid of

honor.

“Yoga?” Vivian frowned instantly, suspicion flaring on instinct. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea for someone in Madeline’s condition. She needs to avoid any kind of activity that might be… overly stimulating. Given her delicate state, both physically and emotionally.”

The “delicate state” she referred to had very little to do with my pregnancy, and everything to do with keeping me under absolute, constant control. I knew it. Olivia knew it. And Vivian knew that we both knew. It was a game of words where everyone understood the unspoken rules.

“Why don’t you come too, Vivi?” Olivia pressed, flashing a smile so sweet it immediately made me uneasy. “It’ll be fun, a girls’ thing. We can do the gentler classes, the ones specifically for pregnant women. Nothing intense

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or dangerous.’

Vivian wrinkled her nose slightly, an involuntary reaction she tried to hide right away. Yoga was clearly not her thing. She’d always preferred activities with more direct competition, more control over others, and far less spirituality or self-reflection.

“I really don’t have time for that kind of-” she began, but Olivia cut her off with impressive skill.

“Oh,

but you really need to think about Madeline’s well-being first and foremost, and the baby’s,” Olivia said, slipping into an almost maternal tone she rarely used. “After all, you’re the godmother. You of all people must know that excessive stress is terrible during pregnancy. Every doctor says so. And we all want the baby to be born perfectly healthy, don’t we? Especially after all the traumatic stress the first wedding caused the entire family…”

I watched Vivian hesitate visibly. Olivia was playing exactly the right psychological cards: responsible motherhood, the baby’s health, and that subtle but powerful reference to the trauma of the previous wedding. It was nearly impossible to argue without sounding negligent, insensitive, or downright cruel.

“It could be a good mental distraction for Madeline,” Vivian finally conceded, her carefully controlled voice betraying clear reluctance. “But I really can’t participate myself. I have far too many important responsibilities to take care of before the wedding. Someone has to handle the practical details.”

I could practically see the gears spinning át full speed inside Vivian’s calculating mind. She was already organizing how to maintain total control, probably arranging for discreet security near the yoga studio, someone assigned to observe and report every move I made, every person I spoke to. Nothing Dominic couldn’t easily add to the ever-growing budget dedicated to controlling the runaway bride.

The pastry chef kept talking about decoration options for the sweets. Colors that matched the wedding theme, quantities based on the guest list, but my attention was locked entirely on the subtle power play unfolding between Olivia and Vivian.

“Perfect!” Olivia clapped her hands, as if Vivian had agreed fully and enthusiastically to the entire plan. “So we’ll start tomorrow.”

When Olivia’s eyes met mine, I knew instantly there was something she wasn’t telling me.

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The black car had been following us for at se une

to match our speed were so obvious even a child would’ve noticed

“They’re not even trying to hide it anymore,” I said, glancing at the side mirror as Olivia drove toward the studio. “It’s like they want me to know I’m being watched.”

yoga

“Maybe that’s exactly the point,” Olivia replied, checking the rearview mirror, her expression tight.” Psychological intimidation. Keeping you constantly aware that you don’t have freedom.”

I let out a long breath and sank back into the passenger seat. The feeling of being watched all the time had become part of my daily routine, like brushing my teeth or having breakfast. That didn’t make it any less suffocating.

“I feel like a prisoner,” I murmured, watching the busy streets of Belmonte slide past the window. “Maybe these yoga classes really will help calm my mind. I honestly need something that makes me feel… normal again.”

Olivia glanced at me from the corner of her eye, and there was something in her expression I couldn’t quite read.

“They will,” she said, but her voice carried a faint tension. “Trust me.”

The studio was on a quiet street, surrounded by small cafés and home décor shops. One of those charming places that seemed to breathe peace and spirituality, with plants by the entrance and a glass façade that let sunlight spill into the reception area.

When we parked, the black car stopped a few spaces away. I pretended not to notice, but I could feel the watchful eyes tracking our every move.

We walked into the studio together. The atmosphere was exactly as I remembered with neutral-toned walls, a soft hint of incense, low, calming music, and that carefully cultivated sense of tranquility places like this were

known for.

“Go ahead to the classroom,” Olivia said, pointing down the hallway. “I just need to stop by the office real quick to sort out some billing stuff and other boring admin things.”