My Husband Hired A Gigolo,I Slept With His Billionaire Uncle

Autumn "You still haven't found a man to f**k you?" Vincent's voice cut through the phone like a slap. I winced hard, my shoulders curling in even though he couldn't see me. "I swear, even if your fat ass spent a whole year over there, no man would find you desirable." He burst into loud, ugly laughter. A second later, I heard a woman's voice joining in, light and mocking in the background. My stomach twisted. "Just come home. I already found someone who can do the job," he said, still chuckling like it was the funniest thing in the world. I slowly lowered the phone after the call ended, staring at the blank screen for a long moment. If he was going to find someone himself, why the hell did he make me come all the way out here? I'd embarrassed myself for nothing, smiling politely at strangers, pretending I was just enjoying a quiet drink while my heart hammered with shame. I picked up my handbag from the chair, took one last look around the quiet lounge, and walked out of the building, my heels clicking against the floor like they weighed a ton. A few minutes later, I slid into my car and started the engine. The drive home felt endless. Vincent's words kept replaying in my head, over and over, each one landing heavier than the last until my chest felt tight and my eyes stung. Fat ass. Undesirable. I blinked hard, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles ached. By the time I pulled into our estate, I spotted Vincent waiting outside the house, arms crossed, looking impatient. I parked quickly and stepped out, smoothing down my dress even though it didn't matter. The last thing I wanted was to keep him waiting and give him another reason to tear into me. As soon as I got close enough, he tossed a large envelope at me. I fumbled, barely catching it before it hit the ground. "Here's the contract I prepared. I already met with the stranger, and he agreed to take six hundred thousand dollars to sleep with your fat ass for six months," he said flatly. He folded his arms across his chest, like we were discussing some boring business deal and not my body, my dignity, my everything. "One hundred thousand dollars each month for six months. I'll transfer three hundred thousand into your account so you can pay him upfront. He'll get the rest after the job's done," he added, his voice dripping with that arrogant tone he always used when he thought he had everything under control. I looked down at the envelope in my hands, my fingers tightening around the edges until the paper crinkled. "Isn't six months a little too long..." The rest of my words died in my throat the second I looked up. The cold glare on Vincent's face shut me right up. My heart stuttered. "Don't test my patience," he yelled, loud enough that I glanced around, hoping no one in the neighborhood was watching. "You know exactly why we're doing this. Or would you rather I pay for one month, then hire another man the next if he doesn't get you pregnant? Then another, and another—six different men over the next few months while you keep spreading your legs like the w***e you are?" He snapped, his words slicing deep. I slowly let out a shaky breath, my throat burning. I didn't have the strength to listen to any more of it. If he kept going, I knew I'd break down right there in front of him, tears and everything, and that was the last thing I wanted. Not tonight. Not ever again if I could help it. "I'll go meet him right away," I whispered, my voice barely there. "You'd better. And don't ruin this for us," he warned, his eyes narrowing. I stood there for a moment, just watching him. Most husbands would never put their wives through something this humiliating. If having a child naturally wasn't possible, they'd suggest artificial insemination, or hold my hand through doctor's visits, or at least pretend to care. But Vincent Winston wasn't like most husbands. Instead, he wanted me to sleep with a stranger—just so I could give him the heir his grandmother had been demanding since the day we got married. Vincent was ambitious, always had been. Grandma Sarah had made it painfully clear: the family empire would only go to the son who produced an heir first. Two years had passed since our wedding, and every single month without a pregnancy made Vincent more desperate, more cruel. That desperation had dragged us to this point. He believed this was the quickest fix, and I'd been too loyal, too helpless, and too blinded by the love I still stupidly felt for him to say no. "I'll send you the address," he said before turning on his heel and walking back toward the mansion without another glance. I stayed frozen in place for a few more seconds, the evening air cool against my flushed skin, before I forced my legs to move. Clutching the envelope tight against my chest like a shield, I got back into my car. A notification pinged on my phone—Vincent had sent the address. I stared at it for a long beat, then started the engine and drove toward the bar. My mind was a complete mess, thoughts tumbling over each other. I couldn't believe I was actually doing this—driving to share my body with a complete stranger. But strangely, that wasn't what scared me the most. What truly terrified me was not knowing how he'd treat me. Would he be worse than Vincent? My husband barely touched me anymore, and when he did, his words always hurt way more than his hands ever could. Even in our most intimate moments, he never missed a chance to remind me how unattractive and worthless I was. He'd whisper how disgusted he felt sleeping with me, how my body made it hard for him. The only reason he ever came near me was because he needed that heir. Nothing else. If not for that, he wouldn't have come anywhere near me. And now I was about to place myself in the hands of some stranger. What if he looked at me the same way? What if he laughed too? As I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, my palms sweaty, I couldn't stop wondering whether tonight would be any different... or if I was simply driving straight into another nightmare. A few minutes later, I arrived at the bar. It was one of the fanciest ones in the city, all sleek lights and expensive cars parked outside. Before I'd left the house, Vincent had texted me the stranger's description: blue shirt, black pants. Simple enough. I pulled out my phone and tried calling the number he'd sent. It didn't go through. I frowned and tried again, but same thing—nothing. Slipping my phone back into my bag, I stepped inside the crowded lounge, my eyes scanning carefully for anyone in a blue shirt. My gaze landed on a man standing by the bar. Blue shirt. He was chatting with a slim young woman, laughing close to her ear. Thinking he might be the one, I walked over, my heart pounding so loud I could hear it in my ears. The moment he saw me coming, he looked me up and down with this strange, dismissive expression. "Nah, I'm not doing this." Without another word, he wrapped his arm around the slim woman beside him and walked off with her, leaving me standing there like an i***t. I stayed rooted in place, confusion washing over me. Was that him? Had he just rejected me on sight? I shook my head, refusing to let the sting settle too deep. There had to be someone else. I kept scanning the room, trying the number again, but it still wouldn't connect. As I turned around, I accidentally walked straight into someone solid. The impact knocked me off balance, and I landed hard on my backside with a thud that echoed in my ears. Laughter bubbled up from a few people nearby, sharp and humiliating. My face burned hot with embarrassment. The envelope slipped from my hands, and the papers scattered across the floor like fallen leaves. The man I'd bumped into immediately reached down, helping me back to my feet with strong, steady hands before bending to gather the documents. I looked at him properly for the first time. My eyes traveled from his polished shoes up his black pants, then to the light blue shirt hugging his broad shoulders and tall, strong build. When my gaze finally reached his face, I froze. He was incredibly handsome—sharp jaw, intense eyes, features so perfect I found myself staring longer than I should have, my breath catching. I couldn't seem to look away. He broke eye contact first, glancing down at the papers in his hands and silently reading through them. A few moments later, a small, almost amused smile tugged at his lips. He had to be the gigolo Vincent had arranged. Right? "You are the gigolo, right?" I asked, my voice a little shaky. "I've been trying to reach you, but your number isn't going through. Could you please sign the contract?" He looked at me with clear confusion at first, then lowered his eyes back to the contract. After reading it a second time, he cleared his throat. "Of course I'll sign it," he said, his voice smooth and low, "but only if we can go somewhere quiet to talk first." I nodded quickly, not trusting myself to speak. He gently placed a hand against the middle of my back, guiding me out of the noisy lounge. I expected the touch to make me flinch or feel gross, but instead, a strange warmth spread through me the instant his palm settled there. It was only light, barely anything, yet I couldn't ignore the unexpected little spark it sent racing across my skin. Once we were standing outside, away from the crowd and the thumping music, he finally looked at me again, really looked. "I'll sign the contract," he said, "but only on one condition. We spend tonight together."