Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 666

Chapter 666

Renee’s POV

My lawyer called before I even got home.

I saw his name flash across the dashboard and smiled without showing teeth.

Perfect.

I answered on speaker, both hands on the wheel, wearing the calm expression of a woman who had done nothing but exercise her “rights as a mother.”

“Renee,” he said, “I just received a message from my associate. About the situation at Mr. Valemont’s

residence.”

“Situation.”

I loved how lawyers call a fire a “situation.”

“Situation is a lovely word,” I replied sweetly. “Bella had a meltdown. Child stuff. But I imagine what I call ‘ child stuff’ you might call… evidence.”

He was silent for half a second.

Calculating.

“You mentioned rumors about a pregnancy.”

“They’re not rumors,” I corrected smoothly. “I saw enough to be sure. And I didn’t have to invent anything. The news leaked. Gossip accounts. Comments. The entire city talking.”

I could almost hear the mental click as pieces locked into place for him.

“You’re telling me we can use this as a new development.”

“I’m telling you it is a new development,” I said. “And my daughter found out in the worst possible way. No preparation. No care. Through the internet. And then… exactly what you’d expect. Fear. Insecurity. Loss of control.”

“Did you document any of this?” he asked, all business.

I laughed lightly.

“You want video?”

“Renee…”

“No. I’m not an amateur.” My tone stayed silky. “I have something better than video. I have a child saying. clearly, that she doesn’t feel safe.”

He inhaled.

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“Come to the office tomorrow morning. First thing. I want to draft a request for provisional custody.”

I ended the call with a calm that almost felt like happiness.

Almost.

The next morning, I walked into his office like I was entering a cathedral. Light suit. Sunglasses. Perfect posture.

The kind of woman judges look at and think: stable.

“Sit.”

He opened my file and pulled out a blank sheet of paper.

“Let’s be objective,” he said. “What happened yesterday, exactly?”

I didn’t dramatize.

I didn’t need to.

I just selected the right pieces.

“Bella arrived visibly distressed. Crying. Afraid. She said her father and Gwen were going to ‘replace her’ once the baby was born.”

I placed a careful pause.

“And frankly, counselor… when a child panics like that, it says something.”

He wrote.

“It does. But we need to translate that into judicial language.”

I crossed my legs, patient.

“Translate.”

He leaned back.

“Provisional guardianship. Emergency measure. Temporary custody until the hearing. The argument isn’t that the father is unfit. The argument is that a new development has destabilized the minor’s routine and out of caution, she should remain in the environment where she feels most secure temporarily.”

1 let my eyes shine just enough.

“And what is this ‘new development’?”

“The pregnancy and imminent marriage,’ he replied. “Not the pregnancy itself. The concrete emotional impact on the child. If we demonstrate risk, a judge can act quickly

“Risk of what?” I asked sweetly, as if I didn’t already know.

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“Psychological distress. Severe anxiety. Emotional instability. Possible academic impact.” He counted them off like menu items. “We don’t need a formal diagnosis to raise concern. A preliminary evaluation. A court-appointed social worker. A child psychologist.”

I leaned forward, interested.

“And the judge will… speak to Bella?”

“In some cases, yes. But it’s delicate. Courts are cautious about placing a minor at the center of a dispute.”

“Of course,” I said, smiling because I wasn’t stupid. “But cautious until the child asks to be heard?”

He studied me for a moment.

Assessing how far I was willing to go.

I held his gaze.

“That carries weight,” he admitted. “Not decisive on its own. But significant. Especially if it aligns with a narrative of instability in the father’s household.”

Instability.

Such a flexible word.

“So,” I said calmly, “we emphasize the timing. The secrecy. The emotional fallout.”

“Yes.”

“And we request urgency.”

“Yes.”

“And in the meantime?” I asked.

He closed the file slowly.

“In the meantime, Renee… you remain the stable parent. Calm. Cooperative, Concerned. You do not attack. You do not react. You let the facts speak.”

I smiled.

Facts.

What a beautiful word.

Especially when you know how to arrange them.

“Instability,” I repeated, savoring the word.

He opened another folder.

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“You mentioned construction at the father’s property. Reconstruction. Workers coming and going. Noise. Change in routine.”

“Yes,” I confirmed. And that part, at least, was true.

He wrote it down like I was handing him gold.

“And Gwen,” he said, looking up. “We need to be careful with Gwen.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“Why? Is she a problem?”

“She’s an easy target for the wrong argument,” he said carefully. “Extremely wealthy. Influential. Public life. A child can feel ‘small’ in that environment. And more importantly, Renee… there’s a risk the judge sees you as turning her wealth into the villain.”

I smiled patiently.

“Then Gwen doesn’t enter the narrative. The baby does.”

He frowned slightly.

“What do you mean?”

“You just said what I need,” I replied, assembling the pieces right in front of him. “The child panicked at the idea of not being the priority anymore. Not because of ‘Gwen Kensington.’ Because of the consequence. The baby.”

He studied me.

I continued slowly. Clearly.

“And the baby is perfect. No one condemns a pregnancy. But everyone understands what a pregnancy changes in a household. Routine. Attention. Time. Priority.”

I let out a soft sigh, perfectly measured.

“I’m not attacking the father. I’m saying his house is changing too fast, and my daughter is suffering.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“That could work,” he admitted.

“It will,” I corrected.

–

He wrote at the top of the page: PROVISIONAL CUSTODY URGENT

“So we proceed like this,” he said. “We file for temporary custody. We request an urgent psychosocial evaluation, with the possibility of the minor being heard in a protected environment.”

I leaned back in my chair.

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“And Nick?” I asked. “He’ll react.”

“He’ll file a response. He’ll claim manipulation. He may even suggest parental alienation.” He paused.” But without concrete proof, it remains an accusation. And accusations against the mother, in cases like this, are often viewed with caution.”

I smiled.

“So the best part,” I said calmly, “is that he’ll have to say I did this. And when he does… I’ll look like the victim.”

He didn’t smile. Lawyers rarely do when the truth is too ugly.

But I saw it in his eyes.

He understood the game.

“One last thing,” he added, more serious now. “If the judge grants provisional custody, Mr. Valemont may have to transfer the child within forty-eight hours.”

Forty-eight hours.

A clean, cold pleasure slid down my spine.

“Excellent,” I said simply.

He closed the file.

“Stay calm. Don’t provoke. Don’t call. Don’t text. Let the process speak for you.”

I stood, adjusting my bag over my shoulder.

“I don’t provoke, counselor,” I said sweetly. “I simply… show up when necessary.”

I was already at the door when he added:

“Oh. And Renee… if Bella is heard, she needs to be calm. No meltdowns. No hysteria. She needs to appear… secure.”

I turned slowly and smiled.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “My daughter knows exactly who she feels safe with.”

And I walked out.

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