Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 710

Chapter 710

Gwen’s POV

“No way.”

Matthew said it like I had just asked him to burn down Kensington headquarters and run through the lobby with a fire extinguisher in his hands.

I leaned back in the chair and watched the scene with a calm that wasn’t calm.

The office was my office.

Same desk, same view, the same corner where I kept a mug I never actually used. Except now, I was sitting on the opposite side of the desk.

It felt wrong. Not because of pride. Because of instinct. My body knew exactly where I sat when I was the one in charge.

And on the other side was Matthew.

At least it was him.

At least when I looked at that occupied chair, I saw someone I trusted enough not to feel like they were stealing my skin.

Mia was still standing, leaning against the bookshelf, with that posture of someone ready to laugh and ready to bite in the same sentence. Dante was sprawled in the armchair like this was a social call and not a conversation that could change a child’s life.

Matthew, on the other hand, had the serious look of someone who understood exactly what it meant to be here.

“Why are you asking me to do this, Gwen?” he asked, more controlled now. “You have a private investigator. You have Child Protective Services. You have Cross. Why do you want to do this?”

I didn’t dodge.

“You know why,” I replied. “I have trouble trusting people.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow like I had just stated the most obvious thing in the world and it was still somehow annoying.

“Don’t try to move me with honesty.” He pointed his chin at me. “It’s not going to work.”

I held his gaze.

“But I trust you.”

He let out a short sound, almost a laugh.

“Oh, no.” Matthew leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “The last time I got involved in one of you Kensington situations, I spent fifteen days straight with my eyes burning from pepper spray.”

Mia laughed out loud.

“Poor thing.”

I looked at Matthew with calculated boredom.

“‘You Kensingtons’ is not accurate,” I corrected. “You’re a Kensington by association too.”

Matthew pointed at himself like I had just committed identity theft.

“I’m a Bennett.”

“And if you think about it, the whole pepper spray situation came from a request by another Bennett,” I said sweetly. “Your

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sister Zoey.”

Matthew rolled his eyes like he was replaying the entire scene, and that almost gave me some satisfaction.

Dante clapped slowly.

“This is going to be entertaining, at the very least,” he commented. “I mean… we worked together in Longmin. I know how that country can be when it comes to… women.”

Mia straightened.

“Dante.”

He raised his hands.

“What? A Valentian woman will do him good.”

Mia made a face.

“He doesn’t have to actually sleep with her!”

Dante’s smile turned indecent.

“Only if he wants to. He’ll be paying.”

Matthew looked at the three of us like he had just walked into a circus.

“I’m not paying,” he said, flat.

Then he gestured at the desk, the chair, the office, everything I was pretending was normal.

“Because I’m not doing this,” he finished.

I took a deep breath.

Matthew leaned forward slightly and his voice dropped, more real now.

“You have any idea what it means for me to be sitting in this chair today?” he asked.

Mia stopped laughing.

Dante stopped pretending this was all just a joke.

Matthew went on.

“Even if it’s temporary… and believe me, Gwen, I’m hoping you come back soon. But this shows Christian trusts me enough to give me a… family position.”

The word family hung in the air, strangely heavy.

My chest tightened in a way I didn’t want to admit.

“Because you are family,” I said.

Matthew let out a humorless laugh.

“And that’s exactly why I can’t betray his trust.”

“But they’re different things,” I said, already leaning forward. “This has nothing to do with Kensington. It’s… a personal request. From a friend.”

Matthew looked at me for a long second.

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Mia crossed her arms like she was holding the room inside its limits.

“Nothing leaves this room,” she said, firm. “It’s just the four of us.”

Matthew let out a short breath.

“Sure. The four of us and Gwen’s worst enemy,” he shot back. “If she finds out who I am, it’s only going to strengthen the narrative that you use company resources, your last name, to get what you want.”

I didn’t look away.

I didn’t play the victim.

I leaned in further, my fingers resting on the wood of a desk that had heard every kind of decision.

“But I do,” I said.

Dante let out a pleased little oh, like I had just declared war and he loved war.

Mia closed her eyes for half a second, resigned.

Matthew didn’t move.

I kept going, without raising my voice.

“In this case, I’ll use whatever I have. Matthew… Bella is like my daughter.”

The words came out clean.

I felt the impact in myself before I saw it on them.

“I can’t leave her locked in with a mother who only wants access to my money through her,” I said. “Not because she loves her. Meanwhile, on the other side…” I started.

My voice faltered a little.

“Nick can barely get out of bed most mornings.”

Matthew kept staring at me, but his eyes had changed.

I took a breath, trying to keep the tremor out of my words.

“Have you ever cared about someone so much… so much that you’d do anything for them?” I asked.

The silence that followed was heavy, but not tense.

Matthew looked away for a moment before looking back at me, like I was the part he was trying not to face.

“Yeah. I have.”

He let out a long sigh, like he was signing an invisible contract.

“Alright.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t celebrate. I just waited.

He tipped his head, accepting the loss with dignity.

“What do I need to do?”

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Chapter 71

Renee’s POV

After the incident, Isabella got worse.

Not worse in the pretty way people like to pretend they understand. Traumatized. Sensitive. In need of comfort. No. Worse in the practical sense. More alert. More suspicious. Harder to bend.

Before, I had a child who complained and then obeyed.

Now, I had a child who watched.

And a child who watched became a risk.

I had already managed to sidestep the negligence narrative once.

That whole “orchestrated kidnapping” story had worked better than I expected, because it was exactly what people wanted to believe. That the rich, pregnant, meddling wife was jealous. That the father had been complicit. That the girl had been used like

a pawn.

It was a spectacle.

And I was good at spectacle.

But spectacle doesn’t survive repetition. Isabella needed to fall back in line. She needed to become predictable again.

That night, she was sitting on the living room rug with a set of blocks scattered around her. Building something that, from her point of view, was a castle. From the point of view of any adult who wasn’t emotionally compromised, it was just a crooked pile.

I watched her for a moment from the couch, my phone in my hand.

It vibrated.

I took a breath and stood.

I approached Isabella with the kind of care that comes from knowing obedience isn’t born from surprise, but from tone.

“Bella, sweetheart,” I called softly.

She didn’t look up right away. Just moved one piece into place, like the world was something that could be ignored it she tried hard enough.

“What?” she asked, still looking at the castle.

I bent down a little, like a loving mother who takes an interest in playtime.

“Mommy has a visitor tonight, okay?”

Now she looked up.

“Who is that visitor?”

I smiled with practiced patience.

“A friend.”

“Can I watch TV?” she asked quickly, like it was an automatic trade.

I kept the smile, my tone unchanged.

“You’re going to stay in your room.”

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The reaction came immediately. Her brow furrowed, her mouth opening to argue.

“But I don’t want to.”

“Bella,” I said, sweetly enough to fool anyone listening, “this isn’t up for negotiation.”

She stared at me a second longer than she used to.

Since she ran, she had learned to test boundaries like she was looking for cracks.

“You said you’d play with me today,” she tried.

“I said we’d play another day.”

“You said today.”

I felt heat rise in my chest.

That was the problem. Isabella had started holding on to words.

I took a breath and grabbed her hand with controlled firmness.

“Come on,” I said.

She resisted a little, just enough to make a point.

In the hallway, I felt the comfort of a well-built house. I hadn’t chosen this place for aesthetics alone. I chose it for structure. The bedrooms were soundproofed. The advantage was twofold. Silence and control.

I opened her bedroom door.

“Stay here,” I said.

“But I want to stay in the living room,” she insisted, her voice trembling in a way she tried to hide.

“No,” I replied.

I walked in with her and turned on the smaller lamp, the one that made the room feel like a nest. I knew how to create comfort. I knew how to create a setting.

“You can play, you can draw, you can watch a little TV on your tablet,” I said, already offering just enough crumbs to seem reasonable. “But you stay here.”

Isabella walked over to the window.

I saw the movement and already knew.

“I just wanted to see who it is,” she said, with that false honesty children use when they’re starting to get clever

“You don’t need to see,” I replied.

She pressed her forehead against the glass for a second.

I had the urge to rip the whole window out.

But I didn’t.

“Bella,” I called again, and this time I lowered myself so I’d seem closer. “This is adult business,”

She looked at me.

“I don’t like it,” she said.