Hired a Gigolo, Got a Billionaire

Chapter 167 Christian's POV A strange, aching routine settled over the days that followed the accident. My life split into three distinct parts: the hours in the neonatal ICU with Matty, the brief moments allowed in Zoey's room where she lay unconscious, and the work I used to fill the spaces in between to keep me from unraveling completely when sleep refused to come. Every morning at six, I was at the hospital. I always went to see Malty first. He was responding well to treatment, gaining a few grams each day. After six days, the doctors were optimistic about his progress. Dr.

Sanders let me stay with him for two hours in the morning and two more in the afternoon. I spent those times talking to my son, reading softly to him, or simply watching him breathe. "Your mom's going to wake up soon," I told him every morning, holding his tiny finger through the incubator's opening. "Then you two can finally meet properly." Matty had become my anchor, my reason to stay grounded. Watching him grow, even by fractions of an ounce, gave me hope. It was proof that life could still move forward, even when everything else had fallen apart. The visits with Zoey were harder. Shorter.

More unbearable. Fifteen minutes in the morning, fifteen in the afternoon, and nothing ever changed. She looked exactly the same-connected to machines, breathing with assistance, her face heartbreakingly still. I sat beside her, holding her hand, telling her about Matt, about how strong he was, about how much we needed her to come back. "They say people in comas can hear," I whispered, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "So I know you can hear me, Zoey. You know our son is perfect.

He's fighting like a warrior, just like his mom." But she never responded or gave the slightest sign that she could hear me at all. Between hospital visits, I buried myself in work. Kensington needed leadership, especially after the massive success of the Vintara launch and the media storm surrounding the accident. Thankfully, the PR team Zoey had built was extraordinary.

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be proud of what you've accomplished." "How is she?" Lisa asked softly. "Stable," I answered. It was the only word I ever seemed able to say anymore. Because stable didn't mean safe. It didn't mean healing. It meant being suspended between life and death. Work kept me busy, but it couldn't silence the noise in my head. I barely slept. On the rare

The moment I heard it, something dark and cold settled in my chest-an anger so sharp it didn't feel human. It wasn't supposed to be her who woke up. It should have been Zoey. It should have been my wife sitting up, asking about Matt, talking

stopping by the house to check on me. "Zoey's going to need you strong when she wakes up!" "I'm fine," I lied, running a hand through my hair, which I hadn't Bothered to cut in days. "Work helps me keep it together." "And Matt? How's he doing?" "Growing and gaining weight. The doctors are optimistic." For the first time in days, a genuine smile

to Dr. Sanders." Days blurred together in a relentless cycle: hospital, work, hospital work. Failed