Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 465

Chapter 465

Vivian’s POV

The heat of Belmonte hit me like a slap the moment I stepped out of the airport. After days in the chill of the Valentian mountains, the Verdanian humidity felt almost suffocating. I dragged my scuffed rolling suitcase through the terminal, scanning for the driver Dominic had promised to send.

He wasn’t hard to spot. A tall man in a dark suit held a placard with my name on it: Vivian Walker.

“Ms. Walker?” he asked, with the stiff formality typical of Dominic’s employees.

“Yes,” I confirmed, handing over my luggage. “Is he waiting?”

“At the office, ma’am. He said it was urgent.’

Of course it was urgent. Dominic hated when things didn’t go exactly according to plan-and when I came back empty-handed. Well, not completely empty-handed. I’d planted seeds of doubt in Madeline’s mind about Marcus. I’d told her about her father. I’d even almost convinced her to get on my jet. But almost was never enough for Dominic.

As we crawled through Belmonte’s traffic, I rehearsed how I’d explain what happened at the camp. There were several ways to frame the situation, some more favorable to me than others. The real question was which version Dominic would be most willing to accept without exploding.

His office was in an unassuming building, the kind that blended into the background but probably cost a fortune to maintain. Typical Dominic. Always operating in the shadows, far from any spotlight that might attract unwanted attention.

I rode the silent elevator to his floor, my heels echoing down the marble hallway as I walked toward the door I knew was his. I didn’t knock. Between us, unnecessary ceremony was a waste of time especially when he was already clearly angry.

He sat behind a massive mahogany desk, fingers steepled, watching me with an expression I’d learned to fear over the years. It wasn’t open anger-that would’ve almost been a relief. This was worse. Cold, calculated disappointment.

“Vivian,” he said my name like he was tasting spoiled wine.

I forced my voice to stay steady as I took the chair across from him.

“I gave you a mission,” Dominic began, his voice low, the threat barely contained beneath it. “To befriend her again and convince her to come to Verdania with you. And you call me right after landing, to say you failed?”

I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the storm I knew was coming.

“Madeline isn’t as stupid as we thought,” I said, allowing a faint edge of defiance into my voice.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Or maybe you’re more stupid than I thought.’

This time, I couldn’t quite stop myself. I rolled my eyes, just barely. Reactions like that usually made him

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angrier, but I was tired of being treated like I’d failed completely.

To be honest, I’d found it far more entertaining to use the camp to sabotage the Kensington team than to play best friends with Madeline again. There was something deeply satisfying about watching Marcus struggle to keep everyone safe while I created subtle but effective obstacles in his path.

Of course, the original idea had been simple. If Madeline got hurt during one of the activities, I’d be the one there to take care of her. The supportive shoulder. The loyal friend she could lean on. I’d carefully calculated how to use “small accidents” to reposition myself as her confidante and protector.

But Madeline wasn’t the one who got hurt.

Zoey fell off the bridge. Then Marcus ended up in the hospital.

It was like the universe itself was conspiring against my plans, no matter how well thought-out they were.

In the end, I barely had any time alone with Madeline. I did manage to tell her about her father. I even almost convinced her to get on that jet with me.

Almost.

It was always almost with that impossible woman.

“What difference does it make?” I said, crossing my legs and leaning back in the chair with a confidence I knew would irritate him. “We both know she’s coming to Verdania to see her father. It doesn’t matter that he locked her up in a mental institution-she’s still sweet, naïve little Madeline.”

Dominic’s face flushed red with instant fury.

“The difference,” he replied, his voice low and dangerous, “is that Madeline was supposed to come back with you. Separating her from the Kensington was the plan. And you know how much I hate it when plans aren’t carried out.”

“What difference does it make?” I repeated, firmer now, almost openly challenging him. “She’s flying back on the Kensingtons’ jet anyway. The end result is the same.”

That was when I saw something change in Dominic’s expression.

The irritation shifted into something far more dangerous.

He rose slowly from his chair, and for the first time since I’d entered the room, a real chill slid down my spine.

“The difference,” he said, walking around the desk toward me, “is that there was a bomb on that jet. Carefully planted to take out that Marcus and his precious little cousin.”

My blood turned to ice.

A bomb.

On the jet.

Madeline was flying back on the Kensingtons’ jet.

“They should be dead by now,” Dominic continued, a sick satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.

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Before I could fully process what he’d just said, he was right beside me. His hands closed around my throat, tight enough to make it very clear he wasn’t bluffing.

“And if Madeline is dead too,” he growled into my ear, his voice heavy with a terrible promise, “you’re next.”

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