Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 166

Chapter 166

Christian’s POV

Dr. Porter walked into the waiting room wearing that expression I come to fear-serious, controlled, but not completely devastating. Everyone stood at once, hearts pounding, waiting for words that could either shatter or rebuild our world.

“The Kensington family,” he began, his tone professional yet kind

“How is she?” I asked before he could go on, my voice breaking with desperation. “And our son?”

He drew in a steady breath, choosing his words with care.

“Her condition was critical when she arrived. The fall was severe, and she hit her head while trying to protect herself. She was already unconscious before reaching the hospital. The baby was also at risk.”

The room went completely still. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears, see the fear and devastation spreading across every face around me.

“Given her neurological instability, we had to act quickly,” he continued. “We decided to induce a coma to control any risk of brain swelling. In the meantime, we performed an emergency C-section to save the baby. And we did. He was born premature, but he’s stable. He’ll remain in the NICU for the next few weeks.”

My knees nearly gave out. Matt was here. My son was alive.

Dr. Porter looked at each of us with the quiet gravity of someone who had lived too many moments like this, where life and death hung by a thread.

“As for Zoey…” he said, pausing. “We can’t make any promises yet She’s in an induced coma and will remain that way until it’s safe to wake her. Her condition is stable for now. There was no internal bleeding, which gives us reason to hope. But… she’ll need time.”

“How long?” Joseph asked, his voice trembling.

“I can’t give an exact timeframe,” the doctor said gently. “It could be days, or it could be weeks. The brain heals at its own pace.”

He let the silence settle for a moment, then added quietly, “What she needs most now is for you all to be here when she wakes up.”

When, not if. That single word became the lifeline I clung to.

“Can I see her?” I asked.

“In a few hours, once she’s fully stabilized in the ICU,” he replied. Then, for the first time, he smiled. “But the father can see the baby now, if you’d like.”

I couldn’t speak. I just nodded, too overwhelmed to form a sound.

“I’ll take you to the neonatal unit,” he said softly.

I followed him through the hospital halls in a daze, my mind struggling to catch up with reality. Zoey was alive, though trapped in a silent world I couldn’t reach. Matt had come into this world far too early, fighting to stay in it. The weight of it all pressed against my chest until breathing hurt.

The neonatal ICU was a world of quiet beeps and soft light. Machines hummed. Nurses moved like ghosts between tiny cribs, their voices low and careful. It was both sterile and sacred, a place where life was suspended between fragility and hope.

And there, in the middle of it all, inside a clear incubator surrounded by monitors and tubes, was my son.

“This is Matt,” said Dr. Sanders, the neonatologist, guiding me toward the incubator. “He was born weighing 1.2 kilos, which is within the expected range for his gestational age. He’s responding well to respiratory support better than we anticipated.”

I looked inside the incubator, and my heart stopped.

He was the tiniest, most perfect human being I had ever seen. Fragile, impossibly small, but alive. He was fighting. His little body was covered in tubes and wires, monitors blinking softly around him, but none of that mattered. My son was here.

“Can I touch him?” I asked, my voice breaking.

“Of course,” Dr. Sanders said kindly. “There are openings on the sides. Just make sure to wash your hands first.”

I scrubbed my hands carefully, then slid one through the opening and touched Matt’s arm with the lightest pressure I could manage. His skin was translucent, almost see-through, so delicate I could trace the tiny veins beneath it. But it was warm. It was alive.

“Hey, Matt,” I whispered, my throat tight with emotion. “It’s me. our dad.”

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