Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 472

Chapter 472

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Chapter 472

Madeline’s POV

We got back to Marcus’s apartment in Belmonte in the late afternoon, the sun already beginning to set, washing the wide windows in shades of orange. Marcus closed the door behind us and turned to me, his expression heavy with genuine concern.

“How are you feeling?”

The question was simple, but it carried so much weight. How was I feeling after burying my father? After watching Dominic play the role of the perfect son-in-law? After my mother’s quiet, urgent warning?

“Still very shaken emotionally,” I admitted, feeling the exhaustion of the day settle into my bones. “But right now, I just want to focus on our daughter. I can’t let myself get stressed anymore.”

The nurse’s warning about the worsened placental abruption echoed constantly in my mind. Every tense moment, every spike of anxiety, felt like a potential risk to the baby. To our daughter.

Marcus nodded and stepped closer, pressing a light kiss to my shoulder. The gesture was so natural, so instinctive, that it made me realize just how used I’d become to his steady, comforting presence.

“You can count on me for whatever you need,” he said softly.

I closed my eyes for a moment, absorbing the warmth of him before answering.

“Right now, all I need is a really hot bath and some comfort food.”

I felt Marcus smile against my shoulder before he pulled back.

“Take as long as you want in the tub,” he said. “I’ll handle ordering something good for dinner.”

I headed upstairs to the bathroom, grateful for the promise of a few quiet moments. I filled the tub with hot water, added some bath salts I found in the cabinet, and sank into the warmth with a sigh of relief.

I tried to relax, to focus only on physical sensations-the water enveloping my body, the steam rising in soft clouds, the gentle scent of the salts. But my mind wouldn’t slow down, spinning obsessively around everything that had happened.

Why hadn’t Dominic spoken to me?

He’d been there, just a few feet away, with every opportunity in the world to approach me during the funeral. Why hadn’t he tried anything? No threats. No intimidation. No attempt to force me back.

Was keeping up the image of the abandoned, perfect fiancé more important to him than intimidating me directly? Reluctantly, I admitted it was a smart move. By positioning himself as the victim in everyone else’s eyes, Dominic earned sympathy and support-while painting me as the villain of the story.

“An attempted murder is intimidating enough, Madeline,” I whispered to myself, my voice echoing softly off the tiled bathroom walls. “He doesn’t need more than that.”

It was true. The bomb on the jet had delivered his message loud and clear. Dominic had no limits when it came to how far he was willing to go. I didn’t need any further demonstrations of power to know I was in constant

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danger.

I finished my bath a few minutes later, deciding that Marcus’s presence might at least help quiet the voices in my head. Being alone only intensified the obsessive thoughts, sending them spiraling into darker and darker loops.

I changed into something comfortable and started gathering the clothes I’d worn that day to throw them in the wash. The black dress I’d chosen for the funeral. My underwear. The coat I’d worn over everything in Belmonte’s cool, drizzly afternoon.

That was when I felt something in the pocket of the coat.

Something that definitely didn’t belong there.

I frowned, sliding my hand into the pocket and pulling out the unfamiliar object.

It was an envelope.

Thick, high-quality paper. Expensive. Carefully sealed.

I turned it over in my hands, searching for some indication of who had put it there-or what it contained. On the back, written in elegant handwriting I knew all too well were a few simple words:

‘Madeline, your father left this for you before he passed.’

My mother had slipped it there during that hug. The hug that had shocked me with its unexpected warmth. She’d used that moment of closeness to pass it to me without anyone noticing-without drawing attention, without even me realizing it until now.

I stared at the envelope, my hands trembling slightly.

It was a letter from my father.

His last words to me, written before death took him without giving me the chance to say goodbye.

I tried to open it. Slid my fingers beneath the flap, ready to tear the paper and finally read whatever he’d written.

But I couldn’t.

Something stopped me. Like an invisible barrier between me and the envelope.

My fingers froze, unable to complete that simple motion. It was as if my body refused to obey my mind- protecting me from something I wasn’t ready to face yet.

I couldn’t do this alone.

The realization hit with sudden clarity.

I needed Marcus. I needed his steady presence beside me. His hand holding mine. His strength lending me courage to face whatever my father had left behind in those words.

I went down to the kitchen, still holding the envelope carefully, like something fragile that could break if handled wrong. I found Marcus arranging dinner-plates laid out on the counter as he transferred food from takeout containers into serving dishes.

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He must have sensed immediately that something was wrong, because he stopped what he was doing and turned toward me, his expression shifting from relaxed to concerned in an instant.

“What happened?”

I looked down at the envelope in my hands, then back at Marcus, then down again. I took a deep breath before answering, my voice coming out more fragile than I wanted it to.

“My father left me a note.”

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