Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 528

Chapter 528

Gwen’s POV

I hurled my phone against the opposite wall with every ounce of strength I had left. It hit with a deeply satisfying crack before dropping to the floor, the screen almost certainly shattered.

Great. One more broken thing.

Just like my memory. My sanity. My entire life, apparently.

I sat on the edge of the bed, breathing hard, the burn of frustrated tears building behind my eyes. I wasn’t going to cry. I refused.

But damn it, it was infuriating. Fighting my own mind just to uncover basic things about myself. Things everyone should know. Simple things.

‘Who am I?’

The question echoed in my head with no answer.

I stood and went to the suitcase, yanking it open and digging through it aggressively, tossing clothes aside without a second thought.

I needed something. Anything that could give me a clue about who I really was.

There were lots of clothes that were far too expensive. Cashmere, silk, Italian linen, shoes that probably cost more than most people made in a month, and a makeup bag packed with imported products.

None of it helped.

Then my fingers brushed against something solid at the bottom of the suitcase, hidden beneath a layer of lingerie that definitely didn’t belong to someone struggling financially.

Documents.

I pulled out the leather folder and opened it with trembling hands.

There it was. My passport.

Gwen Parker Kensington.

Kensington.

A chill ran down my spine, starting at the back of my neck and sliding down my back like icy fingers. My heart started racing for no clear reason, pure adrenaline flooding my veins.

Kensington.

Why did that name make me feel so… scared? Why was there a voice screaming inside my head that no

one could ever know that name?

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It made no sense. None of this made sense.

But the instinct was too strong to ignore. Without overthinking it, I shoved the documents back into the bottom of the suitcase, burying them under layers and layers of clothes. No one could see that. No one

could know.

But why?

The question hung in the air, unanswered.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart. I needed something to organize my thoughts. Something tangible.

I dug through my bag and found a small notebook and a pen.

I sat at the desk near the window and started writing, as if putting the information on paper might somehow make it all make sense.

Name: Gwen Parker

I paused. Should I write Kensington too? No. Something inside me told me not to.

Age: 29 years old (found in documents)

Profession: Digital marketing consultant specializing in rural tourism

Marital status: Single (but engaged)

Nationality: Valentian

I stopped again. My fingers hovered over the page. Something was missing. Something important.

And Verdanian?

I wrote the word, but it felt wrong. Or maybe too right. I couldn’t tell.

Frustrated, I crossed it out hard, the pen tearing slightly through the paper.

I kept going, but every new line only raised more questions than answers.

Favorite color: don’t know

Favorite food: don’t know

Where I live: don’t know

Daughter’s name: don’t know

Daughter’s age: 6 years old (same as Bella)

I stared at what I’d written and felt like ripping the page out. It was pathetic. I knew nothing about myself. Nothing beyond dry, impersonal facts.

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I tossed the pen onto the desk and went back to the suitcase. I had a daughter. That meant I should have photos, right? Everyone had photos of their kids.

I searched every pocket and every compartment. There was nothing. Not a single photo. What kind of mother doesn’t carry pictures of her child?

Guilt hit me like a punch to the stomach. I had a daughter, and I couldn’t even remember her face or her

name.

My phone.

Of course. Everyone keeps photos on their phone these days.

I looked over to where it had fallen, on the other side of the room. I stood and went to get it, silently praying I hadn’t completely destroyed it.

The screen had a few cracks in the corner, but it still lit up when I pressed the side button.

The lock screen appeared. An abstract photo of mountains at sunset. No clues there.

I held the phone in front of my face, waiting for facial recognition to do its thing.

Device locked. Enter passcode.

What?

I tried again.

Device locked. Enter passcode.

Why the hell had I turned off Face ID? Who does that?

I tried to think of the password. It had to be something obvious, right? I entered a few random

combinations.

[Incorrect password.]

[Incorrect password.]

[Incorrect password. Too many attempts. Try again in 1 minute.]

“AHHH!” A scream of pure frustration tore out of my throat.

I threw the phone again, this time onto the bed, where it bounced and thudded onto the floor.

I was going to lose my mind. If I hadn’t already.

I needed to get out of there. I needed air. I needed anything that wasn’t that suffocating room full of

clues that led nowhere.

I grabbed my coat and pulled it on quickly. Then I opened the door and left, heading down the stairs with fast, determined steps.

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The villa was quieter now. I crossed the hallway and found a back door that led outside.

Cold air slammed into me the moment I stepped out, slicing into my lungs and making my eyes sting. But it was… refreshing. Real. Tangible.

I walked across the snow-covered courtyard, following a stone path that led toward a barn or something

like it.

That was when I saw him.

Nick stood a short distance away, near a pile of firewood. And he was shirtless.

In this freezing cold, the man was shirtless, chopping wood.

I watched, completely mesmerized, as he lifted the axe over his head and brought it down with precise force, splitting the log in two with a sharp, satisfying crack. The muscles in his back flexed and relaxed with every movement.

I bit my lower lip without even realizing it, feeling something warm coil low in my belly.

This man was my fiancé. How the hell did I get so lucky?

As if he sensed my gaze, Nick stopped. He turned slowly, the axe still in his hand, and our eyes met across the distance.

For a long moment, neither of us moved.

Then he lowered the axe, resting it against a log, and started walking toward me. With every step, the muscles in his abdomen tightened slightly, forming lines I desperately wanted to trace with my fingers.

“Are you feeling better?” he asked when he was a few feet away. There was genuine concern in his voice.

“I am,” I replied, and my voice came out huskier than I meant it to. “But you…” I let my eyes roam over his body shamelessly. “…you’re making me feel a lot better.”

Nick blinked.

“I… what?”

I took a few steps toward him, closing the remaining distance. His scent flooded my senses. Sweat. Wood. Something masculine and earthy that made my stomach twist.

“You’re really hot,” I said simply, because it was true. “Like… ridiculously hot.”

His face turned red.

Actually red.

That huge, strong man was blushing over a compliment.

It was adorable. And insanely sexy.

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“Miss, I…” he started, taking a step back.

I stepped forward.

“Good thing you’re all mine,” I went on with a smile. “I must’ve made a really good choice when I agreed to marry you.”

“Miss…”

“Is this whole ‘miss’ thing, like… a fetish?” I asked.

“What?”

“Also,” I said, tilting my head and letting my eyes slide over his ridiculously perfect bare chest again, “why don’t we go upstairs and have a little fun?”

Nick choked.

Actually choked on his own air.

“Th… the what?”

“You know.” I shrugged, moving even closer. We were so near now that I could feel the heat coming off his body, cutting through the afternoon cold. “I don’t know if it’s because my memory is messed up, but it feels like I haven’t had sex in months. And…” I bit my lip again, watching his eyes widen. “…I really need it.”

“Mi… Gwen! Gwen, you hit your head,” he said quickly, backing up again and almost tripping over a log. ” You’re not thinking straight. You don’t… we don’t…”

“Why do you keep backing away?” I asked, genuinely confused. “We’re engaged. It’s perfectly natural that we-”

“Hey, Nick!”

A female voice cut through the air like a knife.

I turned sharply, and there she was.

A young woman, probably in her early twenties. Dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. Tight jeans. A red sweater. And she was staring at me with an expression that could only be described as pure fury.

“Are you going to stand there flirting with the guests,” she continued venomously, “or are you going to work?”

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