Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 488

Chapter 488

Vivian’s POV

The hospital room was sterile and impersonal, its white walls seeming to amplify every sound-the steady beep of the monitors, the low hum of the air conditioner, the shuffle of shoes in the hallway outside. I was propped up in bed, still hooked to the IV dripping methodically through the catheter in my arm, when the door opened.

I expected to see a nurse or the doctor doing rounds.

I did not expect to see her.

“What are you doing here?” I asked immediately, my voice coming out louder and more desperate than I

meant it to.

She closed the door behind her with a soft click, then turned to face me with that expression I knew all too well-a mix of concern, anger, and something dangerously close to disappointment. She was a few years younger than me, but in that moment, she carried a weariness that made her look far older.

“I find out my sister almost died,” she said, her calm clearly forced, “and you’re asking what I’m doing here?”

I glanced nervously at the door, as if Dominic might appear at any second.

“Go home, Cecilia. He can’t see you here.”

But my sister didn’t move. Instead, she pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down, watching me with that piercing look that always managed to strip away my defenses.

“Why?” she asked, open disdain in her voice. “Does he come visit you every day? Plays the perfect boyfriend? He almost killed you, Vivian.”

“But he didn’t,” I shot back automatically-hating how the words sounded even to my own ears.

Cecilia let out a bitter, humorless laugh.

“Wow. That’s what you call love now.”

“You know I don’t have a choice.”

“You do have a choice!” Cecilia leaned forward, her voice sharpening. “Of course you do. You just chose this twisted path that makes no sense-”

“I chose this for you!” The words exploded out of me, loaded with years of frustration and unacknowledged sacrifice.

Cecilia recoiled slightly, as if I’d physically struck her. When she spoke again, her voice trembled with barely contained emotion.

“No,” she said, every word slow and deliberate. “You chose this for yourself. I never asked you for

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anything. I just wanted… I just wanted…”

She stopped, unable to finish the sentence-but I knew exactly what she was going to say. I knew why we’d had this same conversation dozens of times over the years, always ending in the same painful

place.

“You just wanted to forget,” I finished for her, my voice softening. “But I’m your older sister, Cecilia. I don’t forget.”

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken memories and shared wounds neither of us could fully put into words. I could see the battle playing out on Cecilia’s face-the desire to save me clashing with the need to save herself.

Finally, she spoke, and her voice was small. Almost pleading.

“Come home with me.”

It was tempting. God, it was so tempting-to imagine simply getting out of that bed, ripping the catheter from my arm, and walking out of there with my sister. But I was so close now. So close to finally finishing what I’d started.

“Soon,” I promised, knowing even as I said it how hollow it sounded. “It’s almost over.”

Cecilia looked at me with that expression that made it painfully clear she didn’t believe me.

“You always say that.”

“This time it’s true,” I insisted, reaching for her hand.

For a moment, she resisted. Then her fingers laced with mine, and she let me pull her into a hug. I felt her body tremble against mine, and I couldn’t tell if it was from stifled sobs or bottled-up anger-or a devastating mix of both.

“I love you,” I whispered into her hair, breathing in the familiar lavender scent she always wore.” Everything I do… it’s for you. For all of you.”

“I know,” Cecilia said, but there was a deep sadness in her voice that told me she wasn’t sure any of it

was worth the cost.

When we pulled apart-both of us with eyes shining with unshed tears-we heard the unmistakable sound of a doorknob turning.

Panic hit me instantly. My eyes flew to Cecilia, who had frozen too, her gaze wide with fear. With frantic, desperate gestures, I pointed toward the small bathroom attached to the room. She understood immediately, rising silently from the chair and slipping inside, closing the door with care just a second before the main door opened fully.

Dominic walked in, mildly irritated, visibly impatient-as if my being in the hospital were a personal inconvenience. As if I should’ve recovered already and returned to my duties, to my usefulness in his

plans.

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“You were supposed to be discharged tomorrow,” he said without preamble, not even bothering with a proper greeting.

I frowned, confused. The doctors had told me I’d be released within twenty-four hours, that my levels had finally stabilized after the methanol poisoning he himself had orchestrated.

“I’m not anymore?” I asked carefully, trying to read his expression, trying to understand where this was

going.

A slow, calculating smile spread across Dominic’s face, and my stomach tightened. I knew that smile. It was the one he wore when something unexpected had happened-something he could twist to his advantage.

“No,” he said, stepping closer to my bed with measured steps. “I asked them to take a little more time with you here.”

“Why?”

He stopped beside the bed, looking down at me with that unsettling intensity that always made me feel

both chosen and threatened.

“Because fate,” he said slowly, savoring every word, “sometimes seems to play right into our hands. You know who I just saw being admitted at reception?”

My heart slammed against my ribs. There was only one person whose presence here would make Dominic react like this-only one person who would make his eyes gleam with that mix of possession and opportunity.

“Who?” I asked, but my voice came out weak, because I already knew the answer before he even opened

his mouth.

Dominic leaned in, his face dangerously close to mine, and when he spoke, there was cruel satisfaction in his voice.

“Madeline.”

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