Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 685

Chapter 685

Gwen’s POV

The question landed in the kitchen like a glass dropped on marble. I couldn’t hear it shatter from inside the wine cellar, but I felt the vibration move straight through me.

Nick stopped breathing.

I could tell by the way his shoulders locked up, like the air had suddenly become too heavy to pull in.

Bella answered too fast.

“My mom’s.”

No pause. No little “um” while she thought. No “can I say something else?” the way she did when she was torn between two choices. It was dry. Clean. Immediate. An answer that sounded… prepared.

Nick made a low sound, almost a choke, like he’d taken a punch to the stomach and was still trying to stand upright. His hand went to the wall for support as his knees started to give. I dropped down beside him without thinking.

“Breathe,” I whispered, close to his ear. “Breathe. It doesn’t mean anything. She loves you.”

He looked at me, and there was something so raw in his eyes that for a second I hated myself for ever believing “we’ll figure it out” was enough.

“She said it fast,” he murmured. “Too fast.”

“I know.” My hand slid up his forearm. “But she’s a child. And…” I swallowed before saying her name.” Renee knows exactly which buttons to push.”

He shut his eyes, like he could erase the image of his own daughter saying it.

“Even so… it carries weight, doesn’t it?” His voice came out low and fractured. “Stuff like that carries

weight.”

I took a breath. Then another. I needed my tone steady. I couldn’t let panic take over.

“It does,” I admitted. “But weight isn’t a sentence. We’ll prove what she’s doing.”

He let out a humorless laugh.

“How? She doesn’t leave traces, Gwen.”

I held his gaze.

“Everyone leaves traces,” I said. My voice came out harder than I meant it to, because I was angry. “You just have to know where to look.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to argue, like he was about to say I was being naïve… but then a

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chair scraped across the kitchen floor. The sound filtered through the vent, sharp enough to remind us the real world was still happening just a few feet away.

I made a small gesture with my hand. Almost a silent command.

Get up.

The evaluator wasn’t leaving without speaking to both of us. And as much as it hurt, the worst thing Nick could do was walk in looking like a man begging.

I stood first. He followed, swallowing whatever was burning inside him.

We stepped out of the wine cellar, and it was almost ridiculous how I knew every detail of that house, yet in that moment it felt unfamiliar. Like I had to walk through a place that was already mine on borrowed permission.

The living room looked exactly the way I’d left it. Too tidy. Too spotless. The coffee table perfectly clear. Everything screamed ready for evaluation, like the house itself was trying to prove it was safe.

Nick sat down on the couch. Not because he wanted to.

Because his body needed somewhere to fall without actually collapsing.

I stayed on my feet.

I paced back and forth, adjusting a pillow that didn’t need adjusting, straightening a magazine that was already straight. If anyone looked at me, they’d think: Gwen Kensington is nervous. I preferred if it looked like energy.

Bella came into the living room first. Small steps. Neutral expression. That new neutrality that had been giving me chills ever since the day she’d said, “You’re not my mom.”

Behind her, the man in the suit followed, slim briefcase in hand, wearing a professional smile. It wasn’t a bad smile. It was the smile of someone who had seen too many families and learned not to promise anything with his face.

“Thank you,” he said with a polite nod. “I know visits like this can create anxiety. You’ve been cooperative,

and that counts.”

That counts. I almost laughed. As if love could turn into points on a chart.

He continued, his tone carefully balanced between human and institutional.

“I’ll draft a report with my observations and submit it to the court within the established deadline. If necessary, I may request a second conversation or a follow-up visit. You’ll be officially notified.”

Nick nodded once, stiffly, like any bigger movement might crack him open.

“And…” The man looked at Bella with the kind of careful warmth that felt like protocol. “Bella, thank you for talking with me, okay? You were very polite.”

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Bella gave a soft, awkward “okay.”

He looked back at us.

“Have a good afternoon.” He closed the briefcase and nodded again. “And try to keep her routine as stable as possible. For her sake.”

Stable.

The word felt like a joke. My life was an earthquake.

He left. The door closed. And for a few seconds, the only sound in the house was a clock I didn’t even remember owning.

Bella stood in the middle of the room, looking at her father like she was trying to understand why the air

felt different.

“Daddy…” she asked softly. “Are you okay?”

Nick lifted his gaze to her. I could see the effort it took not to let the pain show in a way she could reach

out and touch.

“I’m okay, baby,” he said, his voice almost normal. Almost. “Come here.”

He opened his arms.

Bella went.

And I watched from the outside, like I was a guest in my own future. The way her head fit against his chest. The way he closed his eyes for one tight second, like that hug was the only thing that still made

sense.

I wanted to walk over. Wanted to run my hand through Bella’s hair, tell her, I’m here too. But I knew. I knew my presence right then would be a spark in dry grass.

So I stayed where I was, swallowing my own need, because sometimes loving someone means stepping

back.

Nick kissed the top of her head.

“Want a snack?” he asked, trying to shrink the world back down to size. “We could… I don’t know… make popcorn. With butter.”

Bella sniffed, not sad. Just tired.

“Okay,” she said.

And I almost thanked God she said okay instead of I want Mommy.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. For a second, I considered ignoring it. Letting it wait. Because anything that touched that moment might break it.

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But when I saw the name on the screen, my stomach went cold.

Dante.

I answered as I stepped a couple feet away, just enough not to invade their hug with a voice that didn’t belong with popcorn.

“Dante?”

His voice came through lower than usual, like he was walking fast. Or like someone might be nearby.

“Gwen. Are you home?”

“I am. What’s wrong?”

I saw Nick glance at me over Bella’s head, already sensing trouble. I gave him a small shake of my head. It’s under control. Even though I didn’t feel that way at all.

“Listen,” Dante said. “I’m in Montelira and… I’ve got news about the fire.”

“News?” I repeated, my voice sharper than I intended. “What kind of news?”

His pause hurt.

“The kind where… you’re going to want to come here. Now.”

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