Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 435

Chapter 435

Madeline’s POV

The relief I felt when I finally heard the elevator start moving was so intense it almost made me cry. Marcus held me tightly as we descended slowly to the ground floor, his hand still laced through mine, like he was afraid I might panic again.

“Are you okay?” he asked when the doors finally opened.

“I am now,” I said, smiling at him.

The technician was waiting outside with a visibly relieved expression, clearly happy he wouldn’t have to explain to his superiors how two patients had been trapped in a hospital elevator for over two hours.

“Apologies for the inconvenience,” he said nervously, gesturing as he spoke. “Completely unexpected electrical issue.”

Marcus replied in Valentian, saying something that made the man visibly relax before he hurried off. I imagined it had something to do with not suing the hospital.

“The appointment,” I murmured suddenly, remembering the original time. “We missed the appointment.”

“We didn’t,” Marcus said, gently guiding me away from the elevators. “I called the doctor before I got into the elevator with you. She was able to move our slot.”

I was impressed by his ability to think about practical details even in the middle of chaos. It was a quality I was learning to appreciate more and more in him, that steady ability to stay functional when everything else seemed to be falling apart.

The doctor’s office was on the fifth floor, and this time we chose the stairs. Marcus didn’t comment on my obvious desire to avoid elevators. He just followed me quietly, giving me space to regroup.

When we arrived, the doctor greeted us with a warm smile. She spoke Maravian with a slight accent that somehow made her voice even more comforting.

“How are you two?” Dr. Helena asked as soon as she saw us, with the familiarity of someone who had been following us for a few visits now. “I heard about the little elevator incident.”

I felt

my

face heat up with embarrassment, but she kept talking, a playful smile on her lips.

“Actually, I heard about the dad who jumped into the elevator so his wife wouldn’t be alone and scared,” she said, looking at Marcus with clear approval. “I thought it was very romantic.”

My face burned even hotter, and I glanced sideways at Marcus, who looked slightly embarrassed but also quietly pleased by the comment.

It had been romantic, I realized all at once. As much as I hadn’t been able to think about it in the middle of my panic, what he’d done was extraordinary. How many men would literally climb into a dark, cramped elevator just to comfort someone?

“Well,” the doctor continued, leading us into the exam room, “let’s see how this baby is doing, shall we?”

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The room was cozy, with soft-colored walls and equipment that looked modern without being intimidating. She motioned for me to lie down on the exam table, which was covered with fresh paper.

“Today we’re finally going to hear the heartbeat,” she said as she adjusted the equipment, smiling at both of us. “I know you’ve been looking forward to this moment.”

“Very much,” I replied, feeling a swirl of nerves and anticipation.

“Marcus, as always, feel free to stay right by her side,” she added naturally, already familiar with our dynamic.

Marcus moved to stand next to me, and when I looked at him, I saw he was just as nervous as I was. There was something deeply touching about the vulnerability he tried to hide beneath his usual composure.

The doctor spread warm gel across my belly and positioned the transducer. For a few seconds, all we heard was static as she searched for the right spot.

“Oh,” she said suddenly, her face lighting up. “There it is.”

And then we heard it. Fast and rhythmic, like a galloping horse, but infinitely more precious.

Our baby’s heartbeat.

Tears filled my eyes instantly. It was real. Completely, undeniably real.

“Everything looks perfect,” the doctor said, adjusting the equipment so we could hear it more clearly. “Normal heart rate, development right on track for gestational age. You’ve got a very healthy baby in there.”

I looked at Marcus and saw that he was deeply moved. His hands trembled slightly as he reached out toward me.

“Can I?” he asked softly.

I nodded, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. He laced his fingers through mine, squeezing my hand with a tenderness that made me feel protected and loved in a way I’d never felt before.

“It’s our son,” he murmured, like he was still wrapping his mind around it.

“It’s our baby,” I repeated, and the words came out filled with a certainty that surprised me.

The doctor let us listen for several minutes, occasionally pointing things out on the screen or adjusting the

angle. I barely registered the technical explanations. I was completely absorbed in the feeling of Marcus’s hand in mine and that miraculous sound filling the room.

“Would you like a picture?” the doctor asked eventually.

“Yes,” we said at the same time, making her laugh.

While she prepared the images, Marcus leaned closer to me.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?”

“For letting me be here. For… sharing this with me.”

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as new and uncertain for him as it was for me.

“Thank you for jumping into that elevator,” I replied, finally able to smile about it.

“I’d do it again,” he said without hesitation. “I always would.”

The doctor handed us several ultrasound photos, and we stood there for a few quiet moments just looking at them. It was incredible how something so tiny, not even fully formed yet, could already feel so perfect.

“The next appointment can be in about a month,” the doctor said as I sat up and adjusted my clothes. “Next time, depending on the baby’s position, we might be able to tell the sex.”

We left the office holding hands, me carefully clutching the ultrasound photos, Marcus carrying the medical reports.

“How do you feel?” he asked when we reached the car.

“Happy,” I answered honestly. “Really happy.”

Marcus smiled, and it was different from any smile I’d seen from him before. It was free of shadows and hesitations.

“Me too,” he said simply.

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