Page 89 of The Billionaire's Paradise

“It’s not your fault,” he said gently. “You didn’t do this.”

Angus didn’t answer—he just cried harder, curling deeper into Kimo’s arms like he could disappear there.

Cal was suddenly up, crossing the room to his brother. He took the seat beside him and held his knee. “Angus, Kimo’s right. You didn’t do this. Whatever happens, it’s not your fault. Mr. Banks would never want you to blame yourself for anything. You understand?”

Angus gave a shudder of a nod.

The room fell quiet again, the silence drawn tight as wire.

Then suddenly the doors to the ER opened.

A woman in blue scrubs stepped into the waiting room. She looked tired. Her expression was unreadable.

Quickly we rose to our feet as one—Cal, me, Rashida, Mrs. Mulroney, Tilly, Leilani, Tutu, Nakoa. Even Angus pulled away from Kimo, breath caught in his throat.

The doctor looked at each of us.

Her face was grim.

“I’m afraid your friend had a heart attack,” she said in gentle, steady voice.

A sound escaped Mrs. Mulroney—sharp and involuntary—and she cupped her mouth.

Angus made a low whimper and gripped Kimo’s arm.

Cal moved quickly to my side, his hand like a vise in mine.

“It was serious,” the doctor said carefully. “The blockage wassignificant—one of the main arteries. We had to perform an emergency angioplasty to restore blood flow. Unfortunately, there were complications.”

Everyone in the room held their breath.

“His heart stopped once en route,” the doctor told us. “Thankfully we were able to restart it and get him through the surgery. We’ve started him on medication to support his heart function, and he’ll need further monitoring over the next forty-eight hours.”

Still, no one breathed.

Then finally—

“But his condition is stable.”

A collective exhale swept through the room like a wave. Shoulders dropped. Eyes closed. Tears of relief flowed. Hands reached for the nearest hand to hold.

“He’s okay?” Mrs. Mulroney asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“He’s alive,” the doctor said, looking around at each of us. “And he’s in good hands.”

Tutu let out a soft, broken sob and dropped her head against Leilani’s shoulder. Angus collapsed back into his chair, head in his hands. Mrs. Mulroney sat down too, hard, like her knees had given out. She was shaking.

I hadn’t even realized I was crying until Cal pulled me into his arms and pressed a kiss to my temple.

“He’s okay,” my husband whispered gently in my ear. “He’s gonna be okay.”

Over the next two days, the hospital became our second home.

We took turns keeping watch—rotating shifts in the waiting room, bringing in magazines and crossword puzzles to pass the long, endless hours. There were exhausted naps in chairs,murmured updates in the hallway, and enough vending machine snacks to fuel a football team.

None of us wanted to be too far. None of us could breathe properly until we saw him again.

And then, finally, we were allowed in.