Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 735

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Chapter 735 Extra 4

Christian’s POV

If someone had told me, a year ago, that I’d wake up on a Tuesday and willingly jump out of a plane, I would’ve laughed politely and then go back to my schedule.

I didn’t have time for things without purpose. No room for impulse. I had a company, a son, a marriage I protected like it was an entire country.

And yet, there I was.

Standing in a hangar, the smell of fuel in the air, cold wind cutting through the metal structure, wearing a jumpsuit that didn’t belong in any official photo.

Marcus walked beside me with that usual air of his-half amused, half brilliant-like the world was a well-written joke only he fully understood.

“Are you sure this sounded like a good idea?” he asked, eyeing the instructor like he was assessing a wild animal.

“No,” I said, adjusting my watch like that might restore some sense of normalcy. “But I’m also not sure staying on the ground is

better.”

Marcus let out a short, humorless laugh.

“That was dramatic.”

“I’m in a hangar, about to strap myself to a stranger and jump into nothing. I’m allowed a little drama.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but a woman with a clipboard approached and called our names.

Procedures. Signatures. Waivers printed in fonts small enough to humble human arrogance.

I skimmed them like I could negotiate with gravity through sheer willpower-and signed.

The instructor assigned to me–a guy who looked like he’d seen wealthy men shake, throw up, and beg-pointed at me.

“First time?”

“First,” I confirmed.

“Then it’s tandem. You’ll be strapped to me the whole time. I handle the technical part-you handle the panic,” he said with a grin.

Marcus raised his brows at me like, good luck with your panic, cousin.

I put on the harness over the jumpsuit under the instructor’s guidance. Straps across the chest. Buckles at the waist. Bands around the thighs.

Tighten. Pull. Lock.

Simple-until it wasn’t.

Another instructor adjusted Marcus’s gear, and he made a face like he was being fitted for his own execution.

“I just want it on record that I was coerced into this,” Marcus said as they checked the strap on his leg.

“You’re an adult,” I reminded him.

“Also,” Marcus added, like he was changing the subject to avoid staring straight at the emotional cliff in front of us, “you know if you die here, Zoey’s going to kill you, right?”

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I laughed and it came out more genuine than I expected.

“I’d hate to upset her,” I said. “So let’s try to stay alive.”

“Good. Because I have two kids to take care of.”

I paused mid-adjustment of my glove and looked at him.

“Two?”

Marcus smiled-one of those rare smiles that belonged only to him. No audience. No performance. Just quiet pride.

“Maitê’s pregnant. Again.”

I stared at him for a second, and it was inevitable-the image formed in my head. His family. A full house. Noise. Kids. The way he said we so easily.

Like the future wasn’t something to control-but something to build.

“Congratulations,” I said, and I meant it completely. “You have a beautiful family. It’s about to get even better.”

“We like the idea of kids close in age,” Marcus said with a shrug, like it had been a strategic meeting. “So… we acted accordingly.

“Acted accordingly,” I repeated, amused. “I’m going to pretend I won’t turn that into a corporate joke.”

Marcus let out a laugh, and the instructor told him to lift his chin while adjusting his goggles.

“At least you’re producing enough heirs to pass on the Salvani legacy,” I said, because it was the kind of jab I knew he’d take as

affection.

“If we’re thinking like that,” he shot back, “we should probably work on at least three more. Business is doing very well.”

I nodded. I kept track. I knew the numbers, the curves, the expansion. I knew what made a company breathe. I knew it the way you know your own name.

“I know,” I said. “I’ve been following it. You’re opening your first Northeast branch next month, right?”

Marcus made a face somewhere between exhaustion and pride.

“Maitê won’t stop talking about it,” he said. “I don’t even know which one of us is more addicted to work.”

He glanced at me, and there was humor there-but also a hint of something else. A familiar, almost fond accusation.

“I mean… I learned from you.”

I laughed, but something tightened in my chest.

Because it was true.

I had taught a lot. I had pulled people into my pace like pulling a rope tight. And now here I was, trying to remember what it felt like to experience something that wasn’t control.

“Time to stop talking about business and… jump,” I said, because even the word jump still felt ridiculous in my mouth.

“I think there’s still time to change our minds and Marcus started, but his instructor cut him off, pointing toward the plane

door.

“Let’s go. It’s time.”

The aircraft was smaller than I expected.

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Louder.

All metal, vibration, and people who looked a little too comfortable smiling.

We climbed in hunched over and sat on the floor, backs against the sides, like discomfort was part of the ritual.

The door shut, and the engine roared louder. I felt the plane pick up speed, the vibration climbing through my legs, the noise swallowing everything.

Marcus grabbed onto the harness strap like it might save him. I looked at him, and he grimaced.

“I hate you,” he shouted over the noise.

“That’s a lie,” I shouted back. “You love this.”

He pointed at me like he was promising revenge, and I noticed his hands shaking slightly.

Mine weren’t.

Not because I was calm.

I had just spent too many years being good at looking calm. The body learns.

The instructor behind me tapped my shoulder and started the final briefing-short sentences, clear gestures, like he was talking

to someone in the middle of a dream.

“When I say, arms crossed over your chest,” he said, demonstrating. “Chin up. Look at the horizon. On exit, push with your legs. Then relax your body. When I tap your shoulder, open your arms. When the parachute opens, you breathe. On landing, lift your legs.”

I nodded.

Memorized everything like it was a checklist for an investor presentation.

The altimeter on the instructor’s wrist looked like it belonged to another world. The numbers kept climbing, and my stomach twisted when altitude stopped being abstract and became real. People started standing up, checking straps, patting each other on the back like this was some kind of celebration.

Marcus went first.

I watched him shuffle toward the door with his instructor, and for a second, his face changed. The Marcus who joked. The Marcus who opened new branches. The Marcus about to have another child.

Gone.

For a moment, he was just a man.

He looked at me.

“If I survive this, I’m sending you my cardiologist bill,” he said.

He let out a sound that could’ve been a laugh or a cry for help-

And then he was gone.

The empty space he left behind felt immediate. Violent.

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