Chapter 8 Reassurance

"The pregnant woman must remain on strict bed rest and avoid any emotional fluctuations," the attending doctor warned, his sharp eyes sweeping over Alaric and Rhydian with a scrutinizing gaze. Rhydian nodded repeatedly, bowing slightly as he responded to every instruction. "Understood, Doctor. Thank you for your hard work. We’ll make sure to take good care of the patient. I’ll handle the hospital admission procedures right away." After delivering his instructions, the doctor turned and left. The operating room doors swung open once again, and a group of doctors and nurses wheeled a hospital bed out. Alaric’s expression was dark as he stared at Peyton’s pale face. His emotions were unreadable. "Rhydian," Alaric said in a low voice, "you’re in charge of everything from here. Hire the best caregivers for Ms. Peyton, and stay at the hospital to ensure nothing else happens to her." "Understood," Rhydian replied quickly. Then, remembering Calista’s earlier call, he hesitated before saying, "Mr. Frost, Mrs. Frost—" But Alaric cut him off, continuing, "I need to return to the company to handle some matters. Peyton’s behavior has crossed the line, and I need to take measures." His gaze briefly softened when it lingered on Peyton’s rounded belly, but his eyes remained cold as they swept over her unconscious form. Even Rhydian, who had worked with Alaric for years, felt a chill down his spine seeing that look. After a moment of hesitation, Rhydian tentatively added, "Mr. Frost, Mrs. Frost called earlier. She seemed to have something important to discuss. Perhaps you could return her call later?" Alaric’s expression eased slightly at the mention of Calista. "I didn’t leave her a note when I left this morning. She’s probably wondering where I am. I’ll send her a message later. For now, if she calls again, just tell her I’m away on business." With that, Alaric turned and left, not sparing Peyton another glance. Back at the hospital where Daxton was undergoing surgery, Calista sent her department head a leave request and then opened her laptop, connecting to her phone’s hotspot. She began researching thrombus surgeries and post-operative care on both domestic and international medical forums. Though a gynecologist by specialty, Calista had rotated through various departments during her training and understood the high risks and complex recovery associated with thrombus surgeries. She knew that surviving the operating table didn’t mean Daxton was out of danger. The next two to three days of recovery would be critical. Rather than sitting idly outside the operating room, fretting over things she couldn’t control, Calista focused her energy on gathering relevant information, as her professional instincts dictated. Vixen, accustomed to her calm and serious demeanor, didn’t disturb her. They sat quietly, occasionally wiping away tears and holding each other’s hands for comfort. Time crawled by. Finally, the red "In Surgery" sign above the operating room turned green. The tension in Calista’s chest tightened as she quickly closed her laptop and rushed to the door. The frosted glass door opened, and the same doctor who had earlier delivered the critical notice stepped out. He looked fatigued, his mask pulled down to reveal a weary but bright expression. "The patient’s vitals have stabilized, and the surgery was successful," he announced in a clear voice. "He’ll be transferred to the intensive care unit shortly." Before he could finish, Amelia began exclaiming in relief, "Thank goodness! Thank goodness!" Vixen’s tears flowed uncontrollably as she clasped the doctor’s hands, bowing repeatedly in gratitude. The doctor, accustomed to such emotional responses, patiently waited until the family calmed down. Then, his tone grew serious. "However, the patient’s condition was extremely critical. Whether he regains consciousness and returns to normal life will depend on his physical resilience. The family should prepare for all outcomes." Vixen froze, her throat emitting a choked sound. Though Calista’s tears glistened in her eyes, betraying her emotions, she maintained a composed demeanor. Bowing slightly to the doctor, she said sincerely, "Thank you for saving my father’s life. We’ll do everything we can to support his recovery." The doctor sighed lightly, patting her shoulder before walking away. Calista wrapped her arm around Vixen’s frail shoulders, and together they stood by the ICU’s observation window. Through the glass, they could see Daxton lying motionless on the bed, tubes and monitors surrounding him. The once-strong figure she remembered now seemed so small, almost swallowed by the sterile whiteness of the room. The machines beeped steadily, their monotony broken only by the flickering numbers on the screens. Vixen wept softly, her damp handkerchief clutched tightly. Resting her head gently on Calista’s shoulder, she whispered, "Just a few days ago, your father was saying how, when you and Alaric have a baby, he’ll build a wooden slide in the yard. He wanted our grandchild to love coming to our home, even if we don’t have as much money as Alaric’s family… Why did this happen so suddenly?" Calista stroked Vixen’s graying hair gently, her voice steady and soothing. "Mom, Dad is going to get better. Don’t you remember why you admire him so much? He’s always been a man of his word. He promised to grow old with you, and he’ll keep that promise." Vixen looked up at her with tear-filled eyes, nodding firmly. Then, almost hesitantly, she asked, "What about Alaric? Is he still busy with work?" Calista hesitated for a brief moment but quickly masked her discomfort, nodding. "Yes, his company is dealing with something urgent. He said he’ll come as soon as he’s done." "Good, good," Vixen murmured, her expression softening. "With Alaric by your side, I can rest easier."