Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 708

Chapter 708

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Chapter 708

Gwen’s POV

The café sat on a quiet side street. I picked the table all the way in the back, with a clear view of the door and the counter. An old habit. When you grow up being watched, you learn to watch first.

The man arrived without rushing, without glancing around too much, like someone who knows that people in a hurry draw attention. Dark suit, carefully scruffy beard, slim briefcase. Not a lawyer’s. The kind carried by someone who preferred his work to stay off paper.

“Ms. Kensington?” he asked.

I nodded.

He sat down.

“You can call me Lawrence,” he said. “You were referred to me.”

“I know,” I replied. “And I won’t be using your name outside this room.”

One corner of his mouth almost lifted.

“Good. Then we speak the same language,” he said.

I wrapped both hands around my cup like it was the only thing I needed to hold on to.

“It’s a custody case,” I began. “So everything needs to be even more… careful.”

“A minor changes the procedure and the price,” he replied, practical. “But it can be done. What exactly do you want?”

I took a breath, pulling up the list that had been organized in my head since the moment Bella left her father’s arms.

“The biological mother, Renee, is playing dirty,” I said. “She’s already filed an aggravated assault claim against me.”

I saw his gaze catch for a second.

“Assault?” he confirmed.

“A confrontation. She turned it into assault,” I corrected. “I’m not going to give you emotional details. I’ll give you what matters. She’s using it to build a narrative of instability.”

He wrote down a single word.

“Instability.”

“Yes.” I continued. “Now she’s also trying to build a narrative of negligence in our home. Not hers. Ours.”

I made sure to say ours clearly.

“You, the father… and…” he left the sentence open.

“Me and the child’s father. Nick Valemont. We’re married,” I said. “And she wants it to look like this is some personal whim of mine. Jealousy. A woman’s rivalry.”

“And the disappearance incident,” he said, without asking. “That’s part of it too.”

I tightened my grip on the cup.

“She manipulated the press to turn a simple fact into a crime,” I said. “Isabella ran away because she wanted to go back to her father. She tried to come home. And Renee turned that into ‘a kidnapping orchestrated by me.”

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“She claims you planned it,” he repeated, still writing.

“She implies it. She never accuses in a way that can easily come back to bite her. But she plants the idea in the right place,” I said. “And right now, the right place is the public.”

Lawrence looked up.

“Is your goal to discredit her? Or to gather evidence against her?”

“I want proof,” I replied, without hesitation.

He fell silent for a moment, weighing that.

“Does the child’s father know you’re here?” he asked.

I didn’t take long to answer.

“No.”

“Why?”

I lowered my voice.

“Because I don’t want to alarm him unnecessarily, not yet,” I said. “He’s already… at his limit. I need to bring something concrete before I turn this into one more weight on his shoulders.”

Lawrence nodded slowly, like he understood more than I would have liked.

“I see.” He tapped his pen against the notebook. “What do you want? Schedule, money, men?”

The question was blunt.

My stomach twisted, but I kept my expression steady.

“Bella reported…” I began, and the words refused to come out naturally. “She said strange men come to her mother’s house. And when that happens, she’s locked in her bedroom.”

His pen stopped.

“Was this reported to Child Protective Services?” he asked.

“Please,” I said. “We’re dealing with a woman who knows how to turn anything in her favor.”

He didn’t interrupt.

“She’ll say they’re employees, maintenance techs, whatever,” I continued. “She’ll come up with any ‘reasonable’ explanation and still come out looking like the hardworking mother who hires help and does everything on her own.”

“And you want to catch her outside the narrative,” he concluded.

I leaned forward slightly, lowering my voice even more.

“I want to catch her off script. Not the right way.” I let the words land on purpose. “Because the right way, she can manipulate Are we clear?”

Lawrence stared at me.

“I do this kind of work for people who can’t afford mistakes.” He closed the notebook. “It’s my specialty.”

I didn’t like the way that sounded, but I needed it.

“One thing,” he added. “I don’t break in. I observe. I document. If there’s a crime, It shows up in the pattern. If there isn’t, you’ll

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want to know that too.”

I nodded.

“I want to know whatever the truth is,” I replied.

He stood.

“Then we start today.” He left a card without a name on it, just a number. “When I have something, you’ll receive it through a

secure channel.”

“A week?” I ventured.

Lawrence looked at me like time was a luxury.

“Depends how much she exposes herself,” he said. “But yes. A week is usually enough for the basics.”

He left.

I stayed there for another five minutes without touching my coffee. The cup had already gone lukewarm, and I didn’t have the

nerve to reach for it again.

I paid and left.

The rest of the days blurred together in a rhythm that didn’t feel human. I took Cross’s calls without answering what I didn’t want to hear. I signed the temporary leave with my pen like I was signing a wartime pact. I spoke to Christian twice and Matthew once. Quick, efficient, no room for emotion.

On the seventh night, I came home feeling like my entire body was on high alert, even when I closed my eyes.

The doorman handed me a brown envelope, no return address.

“This came for you, ma’am,” he said.

I nodded, took it, and went upstairs.

Inside the apartment, I headed straight for the kitchen counter.

Nick wasn’t there. I didn’t know if he had gone out for a walk or if he still hadn’t come back from the work at the estate. I just knew I didn’t want his first reaction anywhere near my first read.

I grabbed a pair of scissors and cut it open.

I found photographs.

First, a grainy image, but clear enough. The gate to her house under a streetlight. Renee opening the door, A man behind her, hand in his pocket, the posture of someone who already knew the way in.

I flipped the photo over. The date and time were stamped on the back.

I picked up another.

Another man. Taller. Light coat. Entering the same address.

Another.

One more. Different from the other two. Smiling at someone out of frame.

Three men. One week.

At hours when Isabella was almost certainly in that house.

Chapter 708

I felt my jaw lock as I kept flipping through.

Then came a smaller set of pages. Printouts.

I read them once.

Read them again.

And my jaw dropped as I stared at what was on them.

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