Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 679

Chapter 679

Renee’s POV

The bathroom floor was cold enough to remind me I was human.

The metallic taste in my mouth didn’t help.

I blinked slowly, trying to piece together the images that were still flashing behind my eyes. The crack of her hand. The force of her body coming at me. The fury in Gwen Kensington’s eyes like she had spent her entire life training for that exact second.

I hadn’t anticipated that.

I had imagined Gwen the way I always imagined women like her. Too polished to sweat. Too refined to bite. The kind who take a hit gracefully and then buy the world’s silence with a check.

But she had fight in her.

And worse than that, it was the kind of fight that humiliates.

It wasn’t just the physical pain. It was the feeling of being put in my place. Made small. Made disposable. Made pathetic.

I clenched my teeth.

Pain pulsed up my temple, and I forced myself to breathe through my nose, slow and controlled, as if calm could erase what had just happened.

No.

I wouldn’t stay down.

I never have.

The difference between most people and mewas simple. When I lost, I didn’t treat it like an ending. I would treat it like a course

correction.

Lying there on that cold floor, I felt the route redrawing itself with almost delicious clarity.

Gwen had made a mistake.

She stepped out of her perfect role.

And that… that was a crack. An opening. An invitation.

The real problem was more irritating. A simple fight doesn’t turn into a legal war on its own.

Two women in a bathroom? The world would laugh.

“A fight over a man.”

“Jealousy.”

“Drama.”

I could already hear the gossiping tone, the lazy judgment, the collective pleasure of reducing everything to a soap opera.

But I wasn’t fighting over a man.

I was fighting over power.

And power isn’t won with a mediocre story.

I didn’t need the world to laugh.

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Chapter 670

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I needed the world to feel sorry for me.

I ran my tongue over my lips and felt the cut sting.

The pain was real. Good. Reality has always been useful raw material.

I pressed my palms to the floor and pushed myself up carefully, my body protesting in several places at once. I looked around. The restroom was elegant, expensive, spotless.

At least it had been before she and I walked in.

I stood slowly and braced my hands on the sink, lifting my gaze to the large mirror above it.

The reflection was merciless.

Smudged makeup. Eyes bright with anger. Red at my mouth that wasn’t lipstick.

‘Pathetic,’ a small voice inside me whispered.

I ignored it.

“This isn’t going to end like this,” I murmured, and it wasn’t a complaint. It was a promise.

I understood the world.

And Gwen… Gwen was ambitious, proud, used to controlling the narrative.

All I had to do was take the narrative out of her hands.

And I needed something no one could “put into perspective.”

I drew in a deep breath.

“Fine. It’ll hurt me… but it’ll hurt her more.”

I lifted a hand to my hair, smoothing it back as if I were still preparing for a stage. In a way, I was. The stage had just changed.

Now it was the real world. The audience was the justice system. And the performance needed to be undeniable.

I inhaled again, steady and deliberate, and did what had to be done. I wasn’t here to be dignified. I was here to win.

When I finished, I was breathing hard.

The mirror reflected a version of me that finally looked right.

Now it looked serious,

Now it looked dangerous.

Now it looked like the kind of scene that turns a “bathroom fight” into something with sharper words attached to it. Assault. Violence. Threat.

I smiled at my reflection, not because I was happy. I was furious. But I was in control again.

And control has always been my sedative.

I adjusted my clothes carefully, as if there were still rules of etiquette to follow. I let my shoulders slump, practiced the right fragility. The uneven breathing. The unfocused stare.

The victim.

It works because the world likes a victim, as long as she’s presentable enough to become a story.

I stepped back and let my body give way to the floor in a calculated collapse. I rested my head to the side, forced my breathing

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Chapter 579

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shallow, and closed my eyes for a moment.

Now I just had to wait.

Time in that bathroom didn’t move. It dripped.

I could hear muffled voices outside, distant music, people laughing. The world carrying on as if no war had just begun over a marble sink.

Then the door opened.

Footsteps.

A sharp, horrified inhale.

“Oh my God… Oh my God! Ma’am?”

I opened my eyes slowly, as if staying conscious were an effort.

She was already kneeling beside me, hands trembling, unsure whether to touch me, her gaze darting around like the attacker might still be hiding behind the tiles.

“What happened?” she repeated in panic. “Who did this to you?”

I let my focus drift for a second. Just enough performance. The pain did most of the work.

When I looked at her, my voice came out hoarse, fractured in exactly the right way.

I didn’t have to fake the pain.

It hurt.

“Call…” I whispered. “The police… please…”

Her hand flew to her mouth.

“Yes, yes… of course… I-”

I grabbed her wrist with just enough strength to feel desperate.

“I need to… press charges,” I said, breathing like every word cost me something. “Against the person who… did this.”

I let the sentence trail off before saying a name.

Not because I was out of breath.

Because timing was everything.

The setting was enough. The moment was enough. The here and now would do the rest for me.

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