Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 471

Chapter 471

Madeline’s POV

The cemetery was already crowded when we arrived, the service well underway. Marcus had tracked down all the details for me-the time, the location, everything about the burial-since technically not even my own mother knew I was in Verdania. But Dominic certainly did.

That certainty hung over me like a dark cloud as we walked through the discreet entrance Marcus had found. He stayed close at my side, his presence solid and grounding, while two security guards followed at a careful distance-far enough not to draw attention, close enough to react instantly if needed. They were alert to every step we took, every person who came too close.

The paranoia that had become my constant companion since the jet attack intensified as I took in the dozens of people gathered around my father’s coffin.

I watched the ceremony from afar, strategically positioned beneath the shade of an old tree, wanting to draw as little attention as possible. Not only because of the very real danger of being seen there, but also because I genuinely didn’t want to be approached by that crowd of false sympathizers who would offer condolences while silently judging me.

I knew those looks all too well. The ungrateful daughter who had run away from her marriage. The woman who had stressed her father into yet another heart attack. The daughter who hadn’t been at his bedside because she’d “run off” with another man to another country.

After all, the kidnapping story had fallen apart a long time ago. No one had ever reported Marcus. And here I was, standing openly beside my supposed captor.

I could practically hear the whispers rippling through the crowd, each person crafting their own version of my absence and sudden return. To them, I was the villain of this story-not a woman who had escaped an abusive relationship, but a selfish daughter who had abandoned everyone on a whim.

And then my eyes found Dominic.

He stood right at the front, beside my mother, perfectly playing the role of the grieving son-in-law. The abandoned man who, despite everything, still supported the family of his ungrateful fiancée in their moment of loss. Dressed impeccably in black, his posture radiated solemn respect-but I knew him far too well to be fooled by the façade.

Our eyes met only once during the service.

It was enough.

Enough to send an icy chill down my spine. Enough to trigger a wave of nausea so strong I thought I might throw up right there in front of everyone.

There was something in his gaze-a silent promise, a veiled threat.

Marcus must have felt my sudden tension, because his hand found mine, our fingers interlacing in a steadying grip that pulled me back to the present. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to look away from Dominic and focus on the priest leading the service.

The clergyman’s words blurred together into a haze of platitudes about eternal life and well-earned rest-

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empty phrases that didn’t come close to capturing the complexity of the man being laid to rest. My father hadn’t been a saint, but he also wasn’t only the controlling tyrant my adult memories so often reduced him to.

As the ceremony drew to a close, I watched people slowly begin to disperse. Some stepped forward for a final goodbye at the coffin, others formed small clusters, speaking in hushed voices. It was the perfect moment to

leave.

Marcus and I tried to slip away just as discreetly as we’d arrived, staying in the shadows and avoiding eye contact with anyone present. The security guards followed at a respectful distance-professional enough not to draw attention, close enough to intervene if necessary.

We were almost at the exit when I heard a voice behind me.

“Madeline?”

Hearing my name spoken in that familiar voice made me freeze instantly. I turned slowly, bracing myself for the confrontation I knew was coming.

My mother stood there a few steps away. She was dressed in an elegant black dress, dark sunglasses shielding her eyes, and she looked far less devastated than I would’ve expected at her husband’s funeral.

But maybe that shouldn’t have surprised me. My parents’ marriage had long ago shifted from love to business. And maybe it hadn’t been such a good deal for her after all.

I mentally prepared myself for the accusations that were surely coming. For the disapproving looks. For the sharp words about my absence. For the guilt she would undoubtedly try to lay at my feet over my father’s death.

But her reaction caught me completely off guard.

She walked toward me with firm, purposeful steps, and before I could process what was happening, she wrapped me in a tight embrace. It was real. Sincere. Filled with an emotion I hadn’t felt from her in years- maybe ever, not with that intensity.

I stayed completely still for a moment, too shocked to return the hug. My mother had never been particularly affectionate, always keeping an emotional distance that was simply part of how she’d been raised herself.

Then she leaned in and murmured into my ear, her voice low but urgent.

“Run. Go back to where you were.”

Before I could respond and fully process what she’d just said, she pulled away again.

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