Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 509

nodded toward Dominic’s body like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I watched Madeline look at him again. She visibly shuddered at the sight of his body sprawled there, blood still pooling on the garden floor he’d so carefully decorated. And yet, even with all that revulsion written across her face, she couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“Why revenge?” she corrected, looking back at me.

Something tightened in my chest.

I had never told this story to anyone. Not like this. Not fully.

But Madeline wasn’t a stranger anymore, was she? Not after everything. Not after everything she’d gone through because of me. Not after she’d watched me kill Dominic right in front of her.

She deserved to know.

She deserved to understand.

Even if she never forgave me. Even if she couldn’t forgive me.

“It was seven years ago,” I began, and my voice came out different. Weaker. Younger somehow. Like I’d been dragged back to that time.

I blinked fast, pushing back the tears threatening to surface.

“I have a sister, you know?” I went on, forcing the words out. “A younger one. Cecilia.”

Saying her name still hurt. It always did.

Madeline didn’t say anything. She just stood there, waiting, her arms crossed over her chest like she was protecting herself. Or holding herself together. Probably both.

“My mom was always a hard worker,” I said, my throat tightening just thinking about her. “She worked two jobs to support us when we were kids, after our father died in a car accident. I was seven. Cecilia

was three.”

I walked over to one of the empty chairs and dropped into it. My legs couldn’t hold me up anymore.

“Even though I was only four years older,” I continued, staring at my hands, “I took care of her. Fed her. Took her to school. Helped with homework. My mom worked so much that… well, I kind of became a mother too. Before I even understood what that really meant.”

I could see Cecilia so clearly in my mind. Brown hair in little braids. A gap-toothed smile. The way she used to hold my hand whenever she was scared.

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she’s just out having fun and forgot to call.””

My voice rose, cracking.

“They did everything they could to shift the blame onto my sister! A nineteen-year-old girl who had never caused a single worry in her life. A girl with great grades. A part-time job to help pay the bills. A girl who dreamed of becoming a teacher. And they… they just didn’t care.”

The tears came then. I couldn’t stop them. They spilled down my face, and I didn’t even try to wipe them

away.

“They barely did anything to find her,” I whispered. “Barely anything.”

I looked at Madeline through blurred vision and saw her hand covering her mouth. Her eyes were shining

too.

I took a shaky breath.

“Cecilia came back a little over a week later,” I said, my voice so low I could barely hear it myself. “Ten days. Exactly ten days, seven hours, and forty-two minutes after she left for college that Friday.”

I closed my eyes again-but the image was already there. It always would be. Burned into my mind

forever.

“The state she was in…” My voice completely failed. I tried again. “I will never forget it. Not if I live to be a

hundred.”

I opened my eyes and looked straight at Madeline.

“The marks on her body. Bruises. Purple. Red. Some already turning yellow. On her arms. Her legs. Her neck. Everywhere. Her clothes torn. Dirty. Bloody. And the pain in her eyes…

My voice broke into a sob I couldn’t hold back.

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“The pain in her eyes was something I’d never seen before. Like something inside her had been ripped out, leaving behind a raw, bleeding hole.”

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, but the tears kept coming.

“It wasn’t the police who found her,” I said bitterly. “No. Not despite all the searches they should’ve done. All the resources they should’ve used. She just… appeared. She rang our doorbell at six in the morning.”

I could hear it even now. Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Insistent. Desperate.

“I opened the door,” I whispered. “And she was there. My little sister. My Cecilia. Standing on our porch, swaying, covered in dirt and blood and-”

I couldn’t finish. I covered my face, my body shaking with sobs.

When I finally managed to pull myself together enough to continue, I looked up at Madeline and saw silent tears running down her face too.

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“She collapsed into my arms,” I said. “Literally collapsed. And all she kept saying was ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ like it was her fault. Like she’d done something wrong.”

I went quiet for a long moment. Gathering courage. Gathering strength for what came next.

“We found out who did it,” I said at last, pointing down at Dominic’s body at my feet. “Dominic Blackwood.

D

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