Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 164

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Chapter 164

Christian’s POV

The world stopped the moment I saw Zoey fall down the marble stairs.

My brain couldn’t keep up with what my eyes were seeing. My pregnant wife was tumbling down, her body hitting the steps at brutal angles. The sickening thud of every impact echoed through the exhibition hall.

“Zoey!!!” I screamed, dropping everything in my hands and sprinting toward the staircase.

The entire pavilion froze. Hundreds of people stood in shock, but all I could see was my whole world lying at the bottom of those stairs, motionless, and surrounded by a growing pool of blood.

I dropped to my knees beside her, my hands trembling uncontrollably as I touched her pale face.

“Zoey, baby, talk to me!” My voice cracked, desperate, shaking. “Stay with me, love. Please, stay with me!”

Her eyes fluttered weakly, struggling to focus on me. And then, barely a whisper, her voice broke the air.

“He’s not moving… Matt’s not moving.”

And her eyes closed.

“NO!” I shouted, pressing my fingers against her neck until I felt her pulse. It was faint, but there. “Zoey, don’t you do this to me! Stay awake!” I turned toward the crowd, panic boiling over. “Has someone called an ambulance?!”

“It’s on its way!” someone yelled back.

Marcus appeared beside me out of nowhere, dropping to his knees

“Christian! What happened?”

“I don’t know,” I choked out, barely able to breathe. “She went upstairs to get some materials, and then I… I don’t know what happened!”

A few feet away, I saw Elise sprawled on the floor too, motionless, blood on her face. But I couldn’t process it. I couldn’t see anyone but Zoey.

I shrugged off my jacket and slid it under her head, trying to stop the bleeding from the gash on her forehead, my hands slick

with her blood.

“Please, love,” I whispered, pressing my forehead to hers. “Please stay with me. Matt and I need you.”

The paramedics arrived five minutes later, maybe less, but it felt like hours. They immediately took control, assessing her, stabilizing her neck and spine, barking medical terms I couldn’t understand.

“Sir, are you the husband?” one of them asked.

“Yes,” I said, my voice raw. “I’m Christian Kensington.”

“How far along is she?”

“Seven months.”

They exchanged a grim look that made my stomach twist. One of them muttered something about “severe abdominal trauma.”

“We need to move her now,” another said firmly. “We’ll take her to St. Luke Hospital-it’s the closest with a neonatal ICU. You

can ride with us.”

Inside the ambulance, everything blurred into beeping monitors and flashing lights. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Her heartbeat was erratic, her pressure dangerously low. One paramedic held an oxygen mask over her face while another adjusted IV lines and checked monitors.

“How’s the baby?” I asked, my voice cracking.

The paramedics exchanged a glance.

“We’ll be at the hospital in three minutes, sir,” one said gently. “They’ll take care of everything there.”

But his tone told me what I didn’t want to hear.

It was bad. Worse than I could bear to imagine.

Everything at the hospital moved in a blur of chaos and white lights. Zoey was rushed straight into the emergency room, and I was led somewhere else-some sterile waiting room where they told me a doctor would come to speak with me.

I tried to follow the gurney, but a nurse stopped me gently.

“Sir, the doctors need to work now. Someone will come speak to you soon.”

The word soon meant nothing. Time had stopped. I couldn’t sit. I couldn’t breathe. I paced the room, my hands shaking, my heart pounding so violently it felt like it might rip out of my chest. Every minute stretched into eternity.