Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 684

Chapter 684

Gwen’s POV

The house was too clean.

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Not clean in the organized sense. The house was always organized. I couldn’t stand the idea of living in chaos. No, this was clean in a different way. Prepared. Staged. Like I’d tried to sweep away the things you can’t actually sweep. The problems. The police station. The humiliation of hearing my name spoken by an officer like I was some kind of public nuisance.

I’d chosen a discreet blouse, my hair pulled back, makeup light enough that it didn’t look like I was hiding anything. At the same time, polished enough to hide what could be hidden.

Nick was pretending to be calm. He wasn’t.

Bella, on the other hand, looked… normal. Too normal.

“It’s going to be fine,” Nick said quietly, his hand resting on my waist in a way that was too protective not to also be anxious.

I nodded. Smiled. I was very good at looking like everything was under control.

My stomach didn’t believe me.

The doorbell rang with Italian punctuality, which irritated me for completely irrational reasons. I wanted delays. I wanted human flaws. I wanted anything that reminded me this wasn’t a trial.

Nick went to answer it, but I was already one step ahead. Automatic. I’d always been the hostess. Even of my own tragedies.

The man at the door looked like he’d stepped out of a handbook. Dark suit. Slim briefcase. Neutral expression trained not to

reveal an opinion too soon.

“Gwen Kensington?” he asked.

“Yes.” My voice came out steady. The voice I used in multimillion-dollar meetings. “Please, come in.”

He introduced himself with formal politeness. Name. Role. A mention of procedure. He didn’t say interview. He didn’t say investigation. He said initial assessment, with the careful tone of someone choosing his words like he was walking on ice.

Nick appeared at my side, his arm brushing lightly across Bella’s back as she drifted closer to peek.

“I’m Nicholas,” he said. “Isabella’s father.”

The man greeted Bella too. Not in a condescending way. Just kind.

“Hi, Bella. You doing okay?”

Bella gave a small smile. Too polite for a child. The smile she used when she felt like she had to behave.

“I’m fine.”

I gestured toward the kitchen. I’d chosen it on purpose. Light. Comfort. The smell of home. A simple cake sat on the counter Store-bought, obviously, but convincing enough to pass.

The man opened his briefcase.

“I’m going to ask a few general questions. Then, if possible, I’d like to speak with Bella for a few minutes. Just the two of us.”

My entire body went on alert.

Nick’s did too.

I could feel it in the air, the same impulse rising in both of us. No. Not out of control. Out of fear. Protection. The pure panic of

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what an eight-year-old might say without understanding that every word could become a weapon in an adult’s hand.

“Of course,” I said before Nick could. When he looked at me, I added a quick smile, almost a silent plea. Trust me.

The man asked questions that sounded harmless and were anything but. Routine. Schedules. School. Support system. I answered the way I answered executive interviews. Objective. Clear. No drama. Nick answered with more emotion than he intended, but with honesty.

Bella sat at the table, pushing her cereal around without really eating, listening with half an ear.

At one point, the man looked at me more closely.

“Are you pregnant?”

“Yes,” I replied. “Only a few weeks.”

He wrote it down. That was it. Just wrote it down. As if a new life could fit inside a single line.

Then he closed the briefcase gently and looked at Bella.

“Would it be okay if we talked for a few minutes, just us? You can help me understand what your routine is like. I promise it’ll be quick.”

Bella nodded, glancing at Nick first. Automatic. Asking permission with her eyes.

He swallowed hard and nodded back with a smile that hurt just to look at.

“Of course, princess.”

The man pulled out a chair and sat in front of Bella. He didn’t place the briefcase on the table like a threat. Didn’t pull out a recorder. Just a small notepad and a pen.

I stood first, setting the tone, like I was just going to grab some water. Nick followed me with his eyes, lost, caught between obeying and disobeying.

That was when I made a small motion with my hand. Barely noticeable.

“Come.”

Nick hesitated for exactly one second. The second where the father inside him wanted to say no. Then I saw the adult remember where we were. He stood silently, because staying would’ve turned into defiance.

He understood when I led us into the attached wine cellar. For some architectural reason, it had a high ventilation opening that faced the kitchen. Discreet. Beautiful. “For air circulation.” And that morning, for words to circulate too.

We became two adult ghosts, hidden behind bottles and wood, trying to control what cannot be controlled.

On the other side, the man began with simple questions.

“Bella, tell me… what’s it like living here?”

“It’s… nice,” she answered.

“And what do you like to do with your dad?”

A short silence. Then, “We… watch movies. Sometimes we pl-play.”

Nick let out a small breath beside me. Almost relief. That was his Bella. That was their routine. That was what mattered.

“And with Gwen?” the man asked. The way he said my name, neutral and measured, made my skin prickle.

“She…” Bella hesitated. “She’s… nice.”

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I closed my eyes for a second. Just one.

Nice. That was it. One small adjective. But in that kitchen, it felt like a trophy.

“And when you’re with your mom, what do you do?”

Bella listed things. Ice cream. Outings. “Shopping.” Movies. Things that sounded like rewards.

Then he asked the question I’d been dreading without realizing it.

“Has anything changed in your routine these past few weeks?”

“Yes…” she said.

Nick went rigid next to me.

“What kind of change?”

“My dad… gets busy.”

My heart skipped.

“Busy with what?”

“Grown-up stuff,” she replied. I recognized that phrase. Exactly how a child talks when she wants to be taken seriously but doesn’t have the words.

The man asked the right question.

“And how does that make you feel?”

Bella took a moment. Her voice came out smaller.

“Sad.”

Nick covered his face with his hand, silent, like he was physically stopping himself from storming into that kitchen and pulling

his daughter out of the world.

I touched his arm again. Quick. A plea for him to hold on.

The man’s voice softened.

“Can you tell me why?”

Bella inhaled. For a second, I could hear the whole child behind the composure.

“Because he promises… and then he can’t.”

Nick squeezed his eyes shut.

And I felt a surge of anger so sharp it almost made me throw the door open and walk out with Bella in my arms. The anger had a name. A face. A cloud of invasive perfume,

But I stayed.

Because I had to.

The man asked a few more questions, and Bella answered in short sentences and long silences.

Until he said, “I heard you’re going to have a baby.”

I could practically feel Nick drop to his knees from the tension.

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Bella went quiet for a stretch that felt too long to be simple thought.

“I don’t know,” she said at last.

“What do you feel when you think about it?”

Bella swallowed.

“Confused.”

“Confused how?”

Her voice was even smaller.

“The baby is going to be… hers.”

My blood ran cold and hot at the same time.

“And what does that mean for you?” the man pressed gently.

Bella took her time. Like she was searching for a word that didn’t exist.

“That I… might get pushed aside.”

Nick made a low sound, almost a swallowed sob. I could see him breaking without making a noise.

“Do you feel pushed aside now?”

“No…” Bella answered too quickly. Then, as if the word had been too big: “I mean… sometimes.”

“And what are you afraid might happen?”

“That I won’t be special anymore.”

I held my breath. Nick did too.

The man let the silence stretch. Respectful. Intentional. The kind that feels like it’s setting up the final blow.

Then he asked, in that same calm, almost gentle tone, as if it were an innocent game:

“If you had to choose… do you like staying at your dad’s house more, or your mom’s?”

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