Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 551

Chapter 551

Nicholas’ POV

“I’m fine,” Gwen said.

Even in the darkness, even without being able to see her face clearly, I could hear the effort she was making to keep her voice steady. To hold back the tears that were clearly on the verge of spilling over.

I heard the bed creak as she sat up, her silhouette shifting in the faint glow cast by the lone lantern burning on the dresser.

“Can I come in?” I asked, keeping my voice low and gentle.

“Of course.”

I stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind me.

I walked toward the bed, my eyes slowly adjusting to the dim light. I could make out Gwen sitting on the edge of the mattress, her shoulders slumped, her head bowed. I could see the slight tremor in her hands as they rested in her lap.

I sat beside her, the mattress sinking under my weight and causing our bodies to tilt subtly toward each

other.

I hesitated for only a second before lifting my hand to her face. My fingers brushed her cheek and came away damp. Fresh tears, still warm on her skin.

“If you’re fine,” I said softly, letting my hand stay there, my thumb tracing small, comforting circles against her cheek, “why are you crying?”

I felt Gwen shudder beneath my touch. Then, as if a dam had finally burst, the words poured out of her in a desperate rush.

“I’m scared,” she confessed, her voice breaking. “Something feels wrong with me, Nick. The headache is back. It’s really strong. And the dizziness sometimes it feels like the room is spinning.”

“Are you taking your medication the way you’re supposed to?” I asked, trying to keep the worry out of my

voice.

“Yes. I take everything at the right times, just like the doctor said.”

Even so, I stood and went to the dresser where she had left her medicines. I lifted the lantern to get more light and quickly checked the bottles. I found the stronger painkiller, the one Doctor Marshall had prescribed specifically for post-traumatic headaches.

I took the bottle, filled a glass with water, and returned to the bed.

“Here,” I said, placing the pill in her palm and offering her the glass.

Gwen did as she was told without question, swallowing the pill with a long drink of water. I took the

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empty glass from her and set it on the nightstand before sitting back down beside her.

“Do you want to go to the doctor?” I asked. “I can try to take you now, even with the snow.”

“No,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “It’s not necessary. Maybe tomorrow morning, if I don’t feel

better.”

I nodded, even though I knew she probably couldn’t see me clearly.

Then she took a deep breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was heavy with a deep, visceral fear.

“I’m afraid I’ll never get better.”

“That’s not going to happen,” I said immediately, with all the conviction I could summon.

“You can’t know that,” she countered.

“The doctor said that-”

“The doctor doesn’t know what goes on in my mind,” Gwen interrupted, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself and lowered it again. “He doesn’t feel this sense of always being so close to remembering something. Like it’s right there, at my fingertips. And when I feel like I’m finally going to touch it, like I’m going to grab the memory and bring it back… it slips away. Vanishes like smoke. And the pain gets so bad it feels like my head is going to split in two.”

My heart clenched at the raw anguish in her words.

“No, he can’t know exactly what it feels like,” I admitted softly. “But I know you’re strong enough to handle this. I see it in you all the time. And I’m sure you’re going to get better.”

“And what if I don’t get better?” she asked, turning to face me even in the darkness.

“You will get better.”

“And what if I don’t?” she pressed, louder this time.

I sighed, knowing she wasn’t going to let it go.

“Then we’ll make new memories,” I said finally. “If the old ones don’t come back, we’ll build new ones together. Memories you’ll remember because you’re living them right now.”

I saw the outline of her face soften, a faint smile forming on her lips.

“Do you have pictures of us?” she asked suddenly. “Something that could… help me with these new memories? Or the old ones? Maybe seeing photos of us together would trigger something.”

My blood ran cold.

Of course I didn’t. How could I? We didn’t have any photos together because we had never been together

before she fell down those damn stairs.

I had to lie, again.

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“Of course,” I said, forcing my voice to sound natural. “On my phone. But… it’s out of battery. And without power, I can’t charge it.”

“Oh,” Gwen said, and I could hear the disappointment in her voice. “Right. You can show me later, when the electricity comes back.”

“I can,” I lied, feeling the weight of that lie settle on top of all the others.

Gwen lifted a hand to her head again, pressing her fingers to her temple as if trying to physically push the pain away.

“You should try to sleep,” I said, gently touching her shoulder. “The medication will kick in soon, and you

need to rest.”

“Can you stay?” she asked, her voice small, vulnerable.

“Gwen…” I began, the warning clear in my tone.

“Just to keep me company,” she cut in quickly. “I don’t want to be alone. Not tonight. Please.”

I hesitated. I knew it was a bad idea. I knew that every time I crossed another line, it became harder to go back. Harder to keep the distance I needed.

But looking at her there, so small and scared and lost, I couldn’t say no.

“All right,” I agreed at last. “But you really need to sleep.”

“I promise.”

Gwen lay down, pulling the blankets up to her chin. I lay down beside her, keeping a respectful distance.

Then I felt her hand searching for mine in the dark. Her fingers threaded through mine, holding on tight, as if I were an anchor keeping her from being swept away.

I squeezed back, letting her know I was there. That I wasn’t going to leave her alone.

Gradually, I felt her breathing slow. Grow deeper. More even. The medication was taking effect, gently pulling her into sleep.

But I stayed awake, staring at a ceiling I could barely see in the darkness, my hand still holding hers, wondering how I was going to fool Gwen when the lights came back on and I didn’t have a single photo of us to show her.

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