Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 568

Chapter 568

Gwen’s POV

The apartment door closed behind me with a soft, final click, sealing off another exhausting day.

I tossed my purse onto the couch, kicked off the heels that had tortured my feet for the past twelve hours, and padded barefoot into the kitchen. The apartment was quiet. Just the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant ticking of the clock on the living room wall.

The cook had left a plate covered in plastic wrap in the fridge, like she always did. Something that looked like mushroom risotto. I took it out and put it in the microwave, setting it for three minutes without really paying attention.

While I waited, I leaned against the cold marble counter and looked around the spotless kitchen. Modern. Expensive. Outfitted with every high-end appliance anyone could want, and completely lifeless.

The microwave beeped. I grabbed the plate, a bottle of water from the fridge, and headed to the dining table. The huge table that could easily seat eight people, but where I always ate alone.

The risotto was good. Of course it was. Still, I ate mechanically, barely tasting it as my thoughts drifted.

Lately, they always drifted to the same place. To a much cozier kitchen, with an old wooden table worn by time, where a family sat down together every night. Where a six-year-old girl excitedly pacckaзbl about her day while her grandmother smiled and her father listened with complete attention.

I pushed the half-full plate away, my appetite gone.

I felt depressed. There was no other word for the heavy feeling that had settled in my chest and refused to leave. A deep, persistent sadness that followed me even on my busiest days, even when I was surrounded by people in meetings, even when I should have been satisfied with everything I had

achieved.

After my memories had come back with that violent, overwhelming force, after I remembered who I was and the life I had been living, something had changed. Something fundamental.

For a few days, I had believed in things that weren’t real. And it had been so easy to believe.

Even now, knowing it had all been built on confusion and false memories, it was hard to come back to this empty life and pretend I was content.

I stood up, leaving the plate behind, and went to the bedroom. My sanctuary. The only place where I could truly let my guard down and just be… me.

I went straight to the closet. Not the main one filled with tailored suits, expensive dresses, and designer shoes. But the smaller, more hidden closet where I kept personal things. The things I didn’t want anyone

to see.

I dragged over the small step ladder, climbed up, and took down the little box from the highest shelf,

hidden behind other boxes.

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It was simple. Light wood. Nothing special. But inside…

I sat on the closet floor with the box in my lap and opened it with slightly trembling hands.

Inside, carefully wrapped in layers of tissue paper, was a pregnancy test that was six, almost seven years old. The pink line was still there, faded with time but visible. Still real. Proof of something that had existed, even if only for a short while.

Beside it, wrapped in more tissue paper, were tiny pink knitted booties. So small they fit in the palm of my hand. Ones I had bought in a moment of naïve hope, imagining tiny feet tucked inside them.

I picked up the booties, brushing my thumb over the soft fabric, and it was as if a dam broke open in my

mind.

The memory hit me in full force. The same memory that had come in fragments during those confusing days at the inn, when my brain had been trying to tell me something important, and I hadn’t been able to fully understand it yet.

I was in his apartment. The test was in my hand. Positive. I had taken three, just to be sure. All positive.

I was nervous, but excited too. Scared, but hopeful. We were young, yes, but we loved each other. Or at least I thought we did. And we could make it work. We could be a family.

When he got home from work, I showed him the test right away. I couldn’t wait. I couldn’t bring myself to set the moment up in the romantic way I’d planned.

“I’m pregnant,” I said, holding out the test, smiling even through my nerves.

I watched his expression change. From the normal end-of-the-day exhaustion to shock. Then to

something darker. Something that made my stomach drop.

“You’re what?” His voice came out low, dangerous.

“I’m pregnant,” I repeated, my smile starting to falter. “We’re going to have a baby.”

He took the test from my hand, stared at it like it was something disgusting, then slammed it down on

the table.

“I can’t believe you did this,” he said, raking his hands through his hair so hard it looked painful.

“Did what?” I asked, confusion mixing with the fear swelling in my chest.

“Got pregnant!” he practically shouted. “I can’t believe you got pregnant!”

“You’re talking like I did this by myself,” I shot back, my own voice rising now.

“And didn’t you?” He stared at me, his eyes cold in a way I’d never seen before. “Didn’t you take your pills properly? Did you forget?”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” I cut in, tears burning behind my eyes, my throat tightening until it hurt. Get out. Get out right now.”

”

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“Gwen, listen-” He tried to step closer, his hands raised in a placating gesture, his voice softening in a way that felt fake, like he was dealing with a hysterical child.

That only made me angrier. More hurt.

“No!” I screamed, my voice breaking. “Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare touch me! Get out!”

“Gwen, stop yelling.” He grabbed my shoulders hard, his fingers digging into my skin through my blouse, shaking me slightly. Forcing me to look at him. “Listen to what I’m saying. I love you. But we’re too young, okay? Way too young for this.”

He took a deep breath, his grip loosening a little, his voice turning almost gentle. Almost.

Then he said the words. The words that shattered me completely. The words I’d never been able to forget, even after all these years.

“Get rid of it. It’s better this way. For everyone. For us. For her too. A child doesn’t deserve parents who aren’t ready.”

The feel of his hand on my shoulder. His pleading voice. All of it so vivid, so real, even after all this time.

Then my phone rang.

I blinked, snapping back to the present. To the closet. To the tiny booties in my hand and the hot tears streaming down my face.

The phone kept ringing insistently from the bedroom.

I wiped my tears quickly with the back of my hand, trying to pull myself together. I didn’t like being seen like this. I didn’t like crying. I didn’t like being vulnerable.

I put the booties and the test back in the box, closed it carefully, and returned it to the high shelf.

I left the closet and went to the bed where I’d left my phone. Still ringing. Still insisting.

I picked it up, ready to decline the call, but-

My heart jolted violently when I saw the name on the screen.

Nick.

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