Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 8

I paced back and forth in my room, feeling what little sanity I had left drain away along with my remaining dignity. Christian's message blinked on my phone screen like a flashing disaster warning: "Our conversation isn't over, sweetheart."

"Okay, it's fine," I muttered to myself, rubbing my face with both hands. "I confused a billionaire CEO with a gigolo."

Who was I kidding? That doesn't happen. Not ever. To anyone normal.

My phone buzzed again. Annabelle had sent more screenshots of the social media comments.

My name plastered across every gossip account imaginable.

[Who is the mysterious woman who stole Christian Kensington's heart?]

[Billionaire CEO appears smitten! Is the country's most eligible bachelor finally settling down?]

[Christian Kensington's new fiancée comes out of nowhere! Mystery or scam?]

I scrolled through them, my stomach sinking lower with every comment.

[She looks like a gold digger.]

[Wow, he could have anyone and he chose her?]

[She's pretty, but you can tell she's plotting something.]

[I ship them! #Chriszy]

I let the phone drop onto my bed, a lump forming in my throat. It wasn't just the humiliation of mistaking a billionaire for a high-class escort. It was the same old story all over again—people judging me, deciding I wasn't enough, questioning what someone like him could possibly see in someone like me.

Elise's words echoed in my mind, poisoned barbs sinking deeper. "You've always been so boring… You've never had anything special."

And now the entire world seemed to be agreeing with her.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, hugging myself like I could shield my body from all the stares and whispers. I'd been publicly humiliated before, when things ended with Alex, but that had been contained—to our circle of friends and acquaintances. This was different. This was my name, my face, my private life broadcast to strangers who had no hesitation in reducing me to "golddigger" or "opportunist."

All I wanted was to crawl under the covers and never come out again. But I needed air. I needed to think. I needed to do something other than spiral in my own insecurities.

The next day, I did what any person in denial would do. I ignored the Greek tragedy my life had become and went grocery shopping with my mom.

It was Sunday. Supposedly a calm day. Or at least, that was what I thought until I stepped into the market and felt something was off.

At first, I chalked it up to paranoia. Until I noticed people were… subtly turning their phones in my direction. My mom noticed immediately.

"What's going on?" She frowned, scanning the crowd.

I plastered on a fake smile and grabbed a bag of rice like it was going to shield me from the national scandal I'd become.

"Nothing, Mom. Let's grab the fruit."

"Zoey." Her tone sharpened. "Why are people filming you?"

Cold sweat trickled down my back.

"Must be because you look gorgeous today."

"Zoey."

"Prices are insane lately, right? Coffee's a crime now! This country's a mess!"

"Zoey."

I exhaled, avoiding her eyes.

"Fine, I may have accidentally become a minor internet celebrity for a completely ridiculous reason, but it's not a big deal!"

My mom's eyebrows shot up.

"What the hell?!" slipped out before I could filter it.

My mom froze in the doorway right behind me.

My dad smiled.

"Oh, Zoey, sweetheart! You got here just in time!"

I didn't know what shocked me more: the fact that Christian was sitting there, completely comfortable… or the fact that nobody else seemed bothered by it.

"How did you… how did he… what's happening here?"

My younger brother shrugged.

"Christian came to see you. Said it was urgent."

"And you let him in?" I hissed.

"He bought me off with a two-hundred bill…" my brother shrugged again, not even embarrassed.

Christian rose slowly, wearing that careless, dangerous smile.

"I'm glad the whole family's here."

Every cell in my body screamed danger as he started walking toward me. My stomach dropped when he sank down on one knee right in front of me. 'No. No!'

Christian Kensington reached into his pocket, pulled out a velvet box, and opened it—revealing a diamond ring that shone brighter than the light of my consciousness as it threatened to flicker out.

And then, he smiled. The smile of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

"Zoey Bennett, will you marry me?"