Just as Arista tremblingly dialed home, hurried footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor.
"Khloe?"
Arista's eyes flickered. She quickly went forward.
There stood Khloe, arriving in haste with a group of bodyguards behind her.
She moved as if carried by the wind, not even stopping to greet George nearby. Her gaze locked onto the surgical light as she asked at once, "How is Nick?"
Arista froze. For a moment, she didn't know how to answer. She shook her head, tears threatening to fall again.
"He hasn't come out yet."
"He'll be fine." Khloe's voice was low and steady—like she was comforting Arista, or perhaps herself.
Yet her face was completely drained of color. Her hand was clenched so tightly that her knuckles seemed ready to break through her skin.
Arista had a thousand questions she wanted to ask.
But then she noticed Khloe's thick coat—beneath it, she was only wearing a thin nightdress. Clearly, she had rushed over the moment she heard the news.
Arista hesitated.
Khloe had clearly decided to divorce Nick, yet now she looked more concerned about him than anyone.
And her abdomen was already noticeably round. If she truly did this for herself, she shouldn't have come here at all to bear such emotional strain.
Just then, the doors of the operating room opened.
Khloe was the first to react. She rushed straight to the bedside.
Nick was still unconscious, with a respirator attached to him. He looked utterly lifeless.
"Doctor, how is he?" Khloe's eyes never left Nick. Her voice trembled with tension.
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