Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 654

Chapter 654

Renee’s POV

For one very brief moment, the ground disappeared beneath my feet.

I stared at the folder. At the documents. At the words jumping off the page like accusations screamed in bold ink

Investigation. Trafficking. Courier. Suspect.

My heart slammed against my ribs. My hands went cold.

How?

How did they get this?

That had been buried. Filed away. Locked inside bureaucratic drawers no one was supposed to access.

And yet there it was. Sitting in front of me. Thrown in my face by Princess Kensington with that infuriatingly superior expression.

But then, just as quickly, instinct kicked in. My mind started working again.

Investigation. Not conviction.

Suspect. Not proof.

Closed. Due to lack of evidence.

And I started to laugh.

You do realize this is worth absolutely nothing, right?” I said once I caught my breath.

Gwen looked at me with that icy composure.

“You were a courier,” she said as if it were an established fact. “No sane judge would grant custody of a

child to someone involved in drug trafficking.”

1 rolled my eyes dramatically.

This, I tapped the folder, “proves I was investigated. And do you know what happened to that brilliant investigation?

I leaned forward and smiled.

“It went nowhere. Lack of evidence. Case closed Clean record’

I let that settle between us.

‘Honestly, Gwen, I expected you to be smarter than this. If you’re going to threaten me, at least do your homework properly. The way I do mine.”

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I saw frustration flash across her face.

“The difference,” she shot back, her voice still controlled but tighter now, “is that I’m not a criminal. I

won’t sink to your level and fabricate evidence.”

I laughed again.

“Careful with your words,” I warned sweetly. “Or I might sue you for slander.”

“This is all you want, isn’t it?” Gwen accused, her voice rising slightly. “Any way you can get your hands on my money.”

I didn’t answer right away.

Because she wasn’t completely wrong.

The truth was, what they were accusing me of was entirely real.

I had been a courier. Three times, to be exact.

And I would deny it until my last breath if I had to.

The first time had been right after that awful scandal.

When I was exposed as the mistress of a very married, very powerful CEO. When his wife made sure to publicly destroy my reputation. When I was dumped in the most spectacularly humiliating way possible.

I had needed money desperately. To rebuild. To start over somewhere else. To survive while I searched for a new job, a new apartment, a new life.

And someone who knew someone had offered me easy work.

“Just pick up the suitcase. Take it to Ravona. Deliver it to the address.”

I knew exactly what I was carrying. I wasn’t stupid.

But I was desperate.

That money didn’t last long. Not nearly as long as I’d imagined.

I started selling everything my ex had given me during our relationship. Designer handbags. Expensive jewelry. Watches. All of it.

Trying to maintain the lifestyle I was used to.

Which turned out to be completely impossible.

Then came the second time.

Debt piling up. Credit cards maxed out. My landlord threatening eviction.

Another “business trip.” This time farther away. More money.

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And whatever was left after paying urgent bills well, I invested in a few essential cosmetic procedures.

Botox Lip fillers. Facial treatments.

Staying beautiful and young was crucial in a world where appearance was currency, wasn’t it?

Especially for a single woman trying to land a wealthy husband who could solve all her problems.

And now.

Now there had been a third time.

Very recent, actually.

A much larger sum this time. International trip. Exotic destination. Substantially better pay.

Plus a few extra services at the destination. With a generous client who paid very well for discreet and sophisticated company during his stay.

Altogether, it added up to a considerable amount.

Enough for a down payment on a decent house. New furniture. A properly staged environment.

The bare minimum required to file for custody.

Because I had a plan. I always had a plan. And this one was brilliant.

Gwen and Nick would eventually get married. They probably already had one foot there.

And with Nick financially ruined, especially now with part of the estate burned and months of hospitality revenue gone, they were vulnerable. Legally vulnerable.

If I got custody of Bella, Nick would have to pay child support.

Substantial. Monthly. Mandatory.

But the truly genius part was that Nick couldn’t afford it on his own. He was broke.

And then my lawyer had explained something wonderful called “household financial capacity.”

If Gwen and Nick were living together, and they were. If she was financially supporting him, which I could demonstrate through the debt she had covered for him. If her resources were sustaining his lifestyle

Then I could argue that the household had a greater financial capacity.

And request child support based not on Nick’s income

But on what the household had access to

Which meant reaching into her billion-dollar fortune through him.

My lawyer had assured me it was completely legal.

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And with everything falling perfectly into place according to my carefully crafted script, I was finally going to get my hands on that obscene Kensington fortune through the legal system. It was more elegant and secure that way.

I looked at Nick now. I watched his face grow paler as he realized where this was going.

I smiled. Sweet and poisonous all at once.

“Actually,” I said calmly, “I already have the perfect way to get my hands on your money, Gwen.”

I turned fully to Nick.

“If I win custody,” I explained, unable to hide my satisfaction, “I will bleed you dry with child support.”

I tilted my head, my smile widening.

“I’ll prove you depend on her and ask for support from her.”

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Chap 435

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