Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 515

Chapter 515

Madeline’s POV

The address Christian gave me led to a modest neighborhood on the east side of Belmonte. Simple houses lined tree-shaded streets. The kind of place where people still knew each other by name, where kids played on the sidewalks until the sun went down, where neighbors chatted over low walls about soccer and the rising price of gas.

It was a world completely different from mine. And even farther from Dominic’s.

I parked in front of number 247 and turned off the engine, but I didn’t get out right away. I stayed there, hands still on the steering wheel, staring at the house through the windshield.

It was small. Two stories. Fresh cream-colored paint, already starting to peel at the corners. A front garden cared for with love, even if it was simple-rose bushes, a small herb bed, white pebbles outlining the paths. A pink-and-purple children’s bike leaned against the porch, the front basket stuffed with

crayons.

A house. A home. Built with effort and love by a woman who had every reason to give up. But hadn’t.

I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the folder on the passenger seat. I’d been putting this off for a week. A full week since that night. Since everything ended.

Marcus was home recovering, constantly complaining about being forced to rest but obeying the

moment either Mia or I gave him the look. Aurora was visibly growing every day, her eyes more alert, her little sounds more varied. And I was trying to process everything that had happened.

But there was a promise I still hadn’t kept. A promise that weighed on me more heavily with every passing day.

Vivian had made me promise. And no matter how complicated everything about her was, no matter how tangled my feelings were about what she’d done, a promise was a promise.

I grabbed the folder, got out of the car, and walked toward the door. Every step felt heavier than the last. What was I supposed to say? How did you even begin a conversation like this? Hi, I’m the woman who was there when your sister killed the man who raped you?

I rang the doorbell before I could lose my nerve and run.

I heard movement inside. Light but hurried footsteps. A child’s voice saying something I couldn’t quite make out. A woman’s voice replying softly.

Then the door opened.

The woman standing in front of me made me forget how to breathe for a second.

She was younger than I expected. Maybe twenty-six, twenty-seven at most. Dark brown hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, a few unruly strands framing her face. Faded jeans and an oversized T-shirt splattered with paint-the kind of clothes worn by someone who wasn’t expecting visitors. A delicate,

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makeup-free face. And those same expressive eyes Vivian had.

But where Vivian’s eyes were always calculating, always measuring, always hidden behind layers and layers of armor, Cecilia’s held a softness that disarmed me completely. A genuine kindness.

And also sadness. Deep. Old. The kind that settles into your bones and never truly leaves-only learns how to live alongside the good moments.

It was a sadness I recognized instantly. Because I carried it too. Because all of us who had been touched by Dominic carried it.

“Cecilia?” I asked, my voice gentler than I meant it to be.

She nodded slowly, studying me with a mix of curiosity and cautious apprehension.

“I’m Madeline Sullivan,” I said, clutching the folder to my chest like a shield. “I don’t know if Vivian mentioned my name, but I-”

“You,” Cecilia interrupted, and something shifted dramatically in her expression. Her eyes widened. Her hand flew to her mouth. “You’re Madeline. The one who was… the one who was there when-”

Her voice broke. She couldn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to.

“Yes,” I said simply, holding her gaze. “I was there. I was there when everything happened.”

We stood there in the doorway, just looking at each other. Two strangers. Two women who had never met before. Yet forever bound by the violence of the same man. By what he’d done. By what he’d taken

from us.

I saw tears begin to form in Cecilia’s eyes.

“May I come in?” I asked gently. “There are some things I need to give you. Things Vivian asked me to bring. And… I think we need to talk.”

Cecilia hesitated. I could see the conflict on her face-the part of her that wanted to close the door and forget, and the part that knew she couldn’t.

Then she stepped aside, opening the door wider.

“Of course,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please. Come in.”

I stepped into a small but incredibly cozy living room. A floral sofa that had clearly seen better days but was clean and carefully kept. A colorful rug on the floor. Lace curtains on the windows, letting the afternoon light spill in softly. And drawings. Dozens of children’s drawings taped to the walls-houses with smiling families, rainbows, flowers, butterflies.

A house that was unmistakably a home. Built with love. Maintained with care.

“Mommy, who is it?” a tiny voice asked, and my chest tightened instantly.

The little girl was sitting on the living room floor, surrounded by her own universe of toys. Dolls of every

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size. Colored pencils scattered everywhere. Sheets of paper covered in bright scribbles. A half-built block castle leaning precariously to one side.

My stomach flipped.

The shape of her face. The angle of her jaw. The exact shade of her eyes. Even the way she tilted her head as she looked at me with open curiosity.

But then she smiled.

And when she smiled, all I saw was Cecilia. The softness. The innocence. The pure light of a child who was loved.

She wasn’t Dominic.

She was Sarah. Her own person. And she deserved to be seen that way.

“It’s a visitor, sweetheart,” Cecilia said, and the tenderness in her voice when she spoke to her daughter made my eyes sting. “How about you go play in your room for a little bit while Mommy talks to this lady? I promise it won’t take long.”

Sarah studied me with that utterly adorable suspicion children reserve for strangers, her eyes carefully

assessing me.

“Okay,” she said at last.

Cecilia waited a few more seconds-making sure Sarah was truly far enough away not to hear-before

turning back to me.

“Please, sit,” she said, gesturing toward the sofa.

We sat, one at each end, the folder of documents resting on my lap like a physical barrier between us.

“Vivian asked me to come here,” I began, deciding that blunt honesty was the only way forward. “Before… well, before everything ended. She made me promise I would. That I’d bring you some things. That I’d talk to you.”

Cecilia closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, they were glossy with

unshed tears.

“Is she okay?” she asked, her voice so full of worry and love it broke something inside me. “In prison. Are they… are they treating her okay?”

“She’s being treated well,” I assured her quickly. “She has a good lawyer. The conditions are… well, it’s prison, so it’s not exactly comfortable. But she’s safe. She’s fed. And-”

I paused, choosing my words carefully.

“And she’s going to survive this, Cecilia. She’ll serve her sentence. She’ll pay for what she did. But afterward, she’ll be able to leave. She’ll be able to have a life. A normal life. A future.”

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“She shouldn’t be there,” Cecilia burst out suddenly, her voice rising. “She shouldn’t have done any of that! I never asked her to! I never wanted her to-”

Her voice broke completely, and the tears she’d been holding back spilled over.

“She was my sister,” she sobbed. “My big sister. My best friend. The person who took care of me my whole life. Who protected me. Who was more like a mother to me than a sister sometimes. And now she’s in prison. She’s going to spend years there. Because of me. Because of what he did to me.”

She covered her face with her hands, her entire body shaking with the force of her crying.

“How do I live with that?” she asked through her sobs. “How do I wake up every day knowing she destroyed her life to avenge mine?”

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