Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 482

Chapter 482

Madeline’s POV

Marcus and I were sitting on the living room couch that night, the TV on in the background playing some variety show neither of us was really watching. I’d spent the last half hour telling him about my visit to my mother about the awful state I found her in, about the disturbing things she’d said.

“I’m worried,” I admitted, shifting a cushion behind my back to ease the constant discomfort of being seven months pregnant. “I don’t know if my mom is hallucinating with this story about a staged heart attack, or if Dominic really had something to do with it. And if she’s right… she really could be next.”

Marcus took my hand, lacing his fingers through mine in that steady, comforting way that had become so natural between us.

“I won’t let that happen,” he said, with a determination I knew was real. “Tomorrow I’ll send a few guards to her house. Dominic won’t get anywhere near her. And besides…”

He paused, clearly thinking through the next steps.

“After the inauguration, we can figure out something more permanent. A stronger form of protection for her. Maybe… convincing her to move somewhere safer. Like Valentia, for example.”

I nodded, a brief wave of relief washing over me at the thought that at least we had a plan.

“After the inauguration,” I repeated, a rush of excitement mixing with nerves. “Can you believe there are only ten days left?”

Marcus’s face lit up instantly, that familiar spark appearing whenever we talked about the park.

“Zoey’s ideas are absolutely incredible,” he said, his enthusiasm obvious. “She managed to coordinate the launch of the new Kensington Celebration line to happen exactly on opening day-the first Kensington line to include not just wines, but grape juice too. It’ll be exclusive, only available in the park during the first week.”

“Seriously?” I asked, impressed by how clever the strategy was.

“All the specialized press has already confirmed,” Marcus went on, clearly energized. “Major critics, well- known sommeliers, food and lifestyle bloggers. And Zoey even secured partnerships with digital influencers from Belmonte who have millions of followers. They’ll be doing live coverage of the opening.”

“She really took this on as a personal mission,” I said, smiling as I pictured Zoey in her element, orchestrating every detail with that impressive efficiency of hers.

“The décor will be themed but elegant,” Marcus explained, gesturing animatedly. “Balloons and colorful lights in the kids’ areas, but artistic installations in the more sophisticated spaces. There’ll be Kensington wine tastings for adults, gourmet food trucks, performances by local artists on the main stage…”

Listening to him talk filled me with a kind of happiness I hadn’t felt in a long time. Seeing the park come

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back to life. Seeing Marcus so invested. Imagining our daughter growing up there, making happy

memories…

“And there’s more,” Marcus continued. “Zoey even got a few celebrities to confirm they’ll be there. Nothing over the top, but people who’ll draw media attention and-”

That was when the sound from the television abruptly cut through the moment. The cheerful music of the variety show was interrupted by that unmistakable breaking news alert that instantly makes anyone stop and pay attention.

Marcus and I both turned to the screen at the same time. A news anchor appeared, her expression

serious.

“We interrupt our programming to bring urgent information about a growing wave of methanol poisoning in Belmonte,” she said, her voice heavy with professional concern.

I felt Marcus tense beside me. Our conversation died instantly as we gave our full attention to the

broadcast.

“So far, the Ministry of Health has confirmed one hundred and thirteen cases of methanol poisoning following the consumption of alcoholic beverages,” the anchor continued. “Belmonte accounts for more than ninety percent of the cases.”

Images began flashing across the screen-crowded hospitals, bottles of alcohol being seized, people being interviewed with their faces blurred.

“Authorities strongly suspect adulterated alcoholic drinks,” the report went on. “Methanol is highly toxic and can cause severe symptoms twelve to twenty-four hours after ingestion, including intense abdominal pain, blurred or impaired vision, mental confusion, nausea, and vomiting.”

A doctor appeared on screen, explaining in technical terms how methanol is metabolized in the body into toxic substances like formaldehyde and formic acid.

“So far, six deaths related to the intoxication have been confirmed,” the anchor said, and my stomach twisted. “The investigation is being conducted by the Federal Police in cooperation with health surveillance agencies.”

Footage followed of establishments being shut down-bars, wine shops, distributors. Hundreds of bottles were being confiscated and sealed for analysis.

“The Ministry of Justice and Public Security advises consumers to avoid beverages without proper labeling, safety seals, or tax stamps,” the report warned. “They also recommend being suspicious of any drink from an unknown source.”

I saw Marcus frown deeply, his expression shifting from curiosity to growing concern. His fingers tightened around mine, and I realized he was connecting dots I hadn’t yet reached.

“We are facing an atypical and extremely alarming situation,” a representative from the Ministry of Health said on screen. “Verdania usually registers around twenty cases of methanol poisoning over an entire

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year. Having more than a hundred cases in just a few weeks clearly indicates organized criminal activity.

The report had barely ended-cutting back to the regular program-when Marcus’s phone rang. He grabbed it immediately, and I watched his face tighten even more as he looked at the screen.

“Christian,” he said simply, answering.

There were only a few seconds of conversation on the other end before Marcus responded, his voice loaded with a mix of anger, frustration, and fear I rarely heard from him.

“Ah, fuck.”

D

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