Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 486

Chapter 486

Marcus’ POV

I opened the apartment door carrying several grocery bags, carefully balancing everything while using my foot to kick the door shut behind me. I’d gone out to pick up a few things Madeline had mentioned craving- including that very specific brigadeiro she could only find at a pastry shop on the other side of the city.

“Madeline?” I called out, setting the bags down on the kitchen counter.

There was no immediate answer, but I heard the sound of typing coming from the living room. I quickly put away the refrigerated items and went to see what was going on.

I found Madeline seated at the dining table, her laptop open in front of her, an intensely focused expression on her face. She was so absorbed in what she was doing that she didn’t even notice me until I came closer.

“What happened?” I asked, a flicker of concern rising when I saw how serious she looked.

She glanced up at me and forced a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Nothing…” she said, then gestured toward the laptop screen. “Zoey helped me draft an ‘un-invitation.”

She made air quotes with her fingers, and I couldn’t help letting out a soft laugh at the creative phrasing.

“Can I see it?” I asked, leaning in to read over her shoulder.

Madeline angled the screen toward me slightly, and I read the opening lines of the formal statement announcing the indefinite postponement of the Sullivan Parks inauguration. The wording was diplomatic but firm, citing “unforeseen circumstances” and a “commitment to excellence,” without directly mentioning the methanol scandal tied to Kensington.

“Zoey really knows how to use words,” I said, impressed by how carefully it was written.

“No wonder she’s Kensington’s PR director,” Madeline replied with a half-smile. “Apparently she has plenty of experience turning crises into ‘strategic reassessment opportunities.””

I leaned in closer, brushing a soft kiss against her lips before asking,

“So it’s official? You’re really convinced we should postpone the opening?”

Madeline nodded, her smile fading completely.

“You and Christian are right,” she admitted with a sigh. “This isn’t the time to celebrate.”

I gently cupped her face in my hands.

“But when the moment comes,” I said firmly, “it’s going to be huge. It’ll be worth the wait.”

She placed her hand over mine, her eyes shining with unshed tears, and nodded silently.

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The days that followed passed in a haze of controlled tension and calculated waiting. With all

Kensington products pulled from the global market, the methanol poisonings finally stopped completely. It was a bitter kind of relief-we had prevented future deaths, but at the cost of six lives already lost, a weight that pressed on our collective conscience, even knowing the true blame lay entirely with Dominic.

Kensington continued to provide every possible form of support to the victims-covering medical expenses in full, offering generous financial compensation, keeping teams of lawyers and social workers available to affected families. This wasn’t about protecting the company anymore; it was about doing what was right.

At the same time, Christian and I had managed to plant enough people inside Dominic’s operation. Carefully chosen contacts-disgruntled former Montgomery employees who knew exactly what was happening, transport drivers documenting every suspicious movement, even one of the lab technicians Dominic had hired to carry out the adulteration.

Every piece of evidence was meticulously cataloged-photographed, recorded, logged. We were building a case so solid it would be impossible to ignore or dismantle.

One of our most valuable sources was a logistics supervisor Dominic had recruited with promises of generous pay. The man, realizing far too late what he’d gotten himself into, began documenting every tainted shipment-times, routes, destinations. Information that wouldn’t just implicate Dominic, but could map out the entire distribution chain from start to finish.

Another infiltrator, a secretary at Montgomery, managed to gain access to the company’s corporate emails. The messages were carefully coded, but with enough context to reveal direct orders from Dominic about the operations. Christian had hired financial crime specialists to analyze every single communication, building an airtight, irrefutable timeline.

The tension of keeping all of this secret was constant. Every day that passed was another day Dominic could discover what we were doing and destroy the evidence-or worse, eliminate the witnesses.

Thé problem was: who could we safely hand all of this over to?

That was the question we were discussing that night over dinner. I’d made a simple meal-nothing fancy, just spaghetti with fresh tomato sauce and basil-but Madeline was eating with the appetite of someone who’d finally rediscovered the pleasure of food.

“The problem is,” I said, twirling my fork in the pasta, “we need to know exactly who to give all of this to. Christian is digging through his contacts, trying to open an international private investigation, since Kensington is a multinational.”

I took a sip of water before continuing.

“If this stays in Verdania, it could end up in the wrong hands. We know how much influence Dominic has, but we can’t map his entire web of connections. Judges, prosecutors, police chiefs… any one of them could be in his pocket.”

“Christian mentioned contacts at Interpol,” I went on. “And there’s a chance of involving Valentian authorities, since Kensington’s headquarters are registered there. But every jurisdiction has its own

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protocols. Its own timelines.”

Madeline nodded, chewing thoughtfully before answering.

“Even if it takes longer, it’s better to do everything as carefully as possible,” she said wisely.

That was when I noticed a flicker of discomfort cross her face. She shifted in her chair, one hand instinctively moving to her prominent belly.

“What is it?” I asked immediately, my full attention snapping to her.

“Nothing serious,” she said, but her tone didn’t convince me. “I’m just really tired. My belly feels so heavy

”

I stood up and went to her, kneeling beside her chair so I was at eye

level.

“How about we go upstairs and I give you that massage I promised?” I suggested, brushing a soft kiss against her lips.

Madeline smiled, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes when she replied,

“I’ll take it. But don’t get your hopes up-there’s no funny business afterward.”

I laughed genuinely at her bluntness.

“I wasn’t even thinking about that,” I lied shamelessly, making her laugh too.

“Of course you were.”

I helped her to her feet, and we went upstairs together. In the bedroom, Madeline lay down on her side, sighing with relief as the weight finally eased off her back. I sat at the foot of the bed and began massaging her swollen feet, applying gentle but firm pressure to the spots I knew bothered her most.

“That feels so good,” she murmured, her eyes already starting to flutter closed.

“Relax,” I said softly. “Just enjoy it.”

I kept going for several minutes, moving between her feet, calves, and ankles. Her breathing grew slower and deeper, until I realized she’d fallen completely asleep.

I smiled to myself, carefully covering her with a light sheet before lying down beside her. I shifted so I wouldn’t disturb her, my hand resting protectively over her belly-where our daughter slept too.

The exhaustion of the day caught up with me quickly, and within minutes, I was fast asleep as well.

I didn’t know how much time had passed when I woke with a jolt in the middle of the night.

Madeline was screaming.

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