Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 656

Chapter 656

Gwen’s POV

I didn’t tell him I was coming.

I just got in my car Friday morning, told Dante to handle anything urgent, and drove straight to Montelira. To the estate.

Parts of the property were almost unrecognizable. Metal scaffolding wrapped around the wing damaged by the fire. Blue tarps covered sections of the roof. Men in yellow helmets moved back and forth carrying materials, operating machinery.

The sound of power saws and pneumatic drills echoed through hills that were usually quiet.

And yet it was still familiar. Deeply familiar.

The vineyards were as green and perfectly aligned as ever, endless rows stretching in clean geometric patterns. The scent of warm earth and ripening grapes filled the air. The Castorian sky arched wide and blue above everything, indifferent to the human chaos below.

It was beautiful here. It always had been.

I parked near the main house, in the part untouched by the fire. I turned off the engine and sat there for a moment, breathing.

Bracing myself.

Then I stepped out, closed the door with quiet determination, and went looking for Nick.

Paula spotted me first.

“Gwen!” she said, surprised. “I didn’t know you were coming today. Nick is-”

“Where is he?” I asked gently but firmly.

She pointed toward the reconstruction site.

“Over there with the contractor. Something about structural beams.”

I headed in that direction, workers greeting me politely as I passed.

I found him with his back to me, leaning over architectural plans spread across a makeshift wooden table. His jeans were streaked with dust. His sleeves rolled up. His hair messy, like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times.

“Nick,” I called.

He turned sharply, eyes widening when he saw me.

“Gwen? What… why are you here?”

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“We need to talk,” I said.

I saw the tension hit his shoulders instantly.

“I’m kind of busy right now,” he began, gesturing vaguely at the construction around us. “Maybe later-”

“No,” I cut in. “Now.”

The contractor standing beside him looked between us awkwardly.

“I’ll… check on the materials that just arrived,” he muttered before quickly walking away.

Nick let out a heavy breath.

“Gwen, this isn’t a good time-”

“It’s never a good time,” I interrupted. “You’re always busy. Always tired. Always have something more important.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Then what is it?” I challenged, crossing my arms. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve been avoiding me for days.”

His jaw tightened. He looked away.

“I’m not avoiding you.”

“Yes, you are,” I said quietly but firmly. “And we both know it.”

We stood there in heavy silence.

“Come on,” he said finally, turning away without looking at me. “We’re not having this conversation in the middle of a construction site.”

I followed him across the property, tension thick between us. He stopped where two old bikes were leaning against a wall. He grabbed one and handed me the other without a word.

We rode past the neat rows of vines, their leaves whispering in the breeze. Around the old stone barn with the red tile roof. Down the dirt path I knew by heart.

And then I realized exactly where we were going.

The medieval tower.

The same tower we had climbed what felt like a lifetime ago. The first time he showed me the breathtaking view. The place where we talked about wine, about passion, about dreams and possible futures.

When everything had been simple.

Before accidents and fires and court threats. Before painful discoveries and buried secrets.

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It felt like another life.

We climbed the narrow stone staircase in complete silence. Just the echo of our footsteps against centuries-old walls. Mine steady behind his.

The climb felt longer today. Steeper.

Or maybe it was just the weight of what we both knew was coming.

When we reached the top, the wind hit us harder up there, open and exposed. It tangled my hair, carried

the scent of ripe grapes and distant rain.

The view stretched endlessly in every direction.

Beautiful. Always painfully beautiful.

But I couldn’t take it in. Not with the tension between us pulled tight like a wire ready to snap.

Nick stood with his back to me at first, hands shoved into his jeans pockets, shoulders rigid beneath his work shirt, staring at the horizon like the hills might offer answers.

“Well?” I pressed when the silence dragged too long. “Are you going to keep running, or are you finally going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I’m not running,” he said again, but it sounded weak.

“Yes, you are,” I insisted, stepping closer. “You’re sleeping on the couch. Leaving before I wake up. Coming home late. Avoiding touching me. Avoiding talking to me.”

I grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face me.

“What is your problem?” I demanded, my frustration and hurt spilling out. “I refuse to believe you’re going to let Renee push us apart like this. Not after everything.”

Something cracked across his face.

“My problem,” he started, his voice rough, “is that she still knows me too well.”

He dragged a hand through his hair in agitation.

“She knew exactly what I would do,” he continued, bitterness thick in his voice. “She knew where to hit to cause the most damage. How to twist things in her favor. Which buttons to push. Where I’m weak. Where I’m predictable.”

He let out a humorless laugh.

“Years of marriage teach you that, don’t they? Even when the love dies, the knowledge stays. The tools stay sharp.”

He stopped abruptly.

Just stood there, looking at me and somehow through me, like he was seeing something I couldn’t.

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Then slowly, deliberately, he slipped his hand back into his worn jeans pocket.

When he pulled it out, he was holding something small.

But monumental.

A velvet box. The edges worn. Old. Precious.

My heart stuttered.

I couldn’t breathe.

Because I recognized it instantly.

He opened it carefully, revealing the same ring he had slipped onto my finger when I had no memory. When I woke up lost and thought we were truly engaged. When everything was terrifying and uncertain and he had been the only solid thing in my world.

When he had given me temporary safety wrapped in a lie.

But now-

“It’s like she knew,” Nick said, his voice softer than I’d heard in weeks. Raw. Unprotected. “Like she knew I’ve been carrying this in my pocket since the day you woke up from the coma. Since the moment you opened your eyes and said my name.”

He looked at me fully now.

Really looked at me.

His eyes were bright with emotion he usually guarded so carefully.

“I was just… waiting for the right moment,” he went on, his voice breaking at the edges. “The perfect place. The right words that would actually do justice to what I feel. Trying to find the most beautiful way to ask you the most important question of my life.”

His hand trembled slightly around the box.

“And now…” He tightened his grip on the velvet. “How am I supposed to do that knowing I’m following the exact script she mapped out for her plan? How can I give you what she wants me to give you? How can I walk straight into the trap she set?”

His voice cracked completely.

“How can I ask you to marry me, Gwen?”

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