“Khloé,” Chyna said coolly.
“Choose what?” he mumbled, sauce on his chin.
Back at Kris’s mansion, the family gathered for a “mandatory emotional debrief.” Rob sat in the corner, eating a meatball sub, looking deeply uncomfortable.
“Between your blood and your… your scent-stealing baby mama.”
Kim swept in, her Yeezy heels silent on the tile. But her face was loud. She slammed a gold-plated notebook onto the island. “We have a crisis.”
“You care, Kendall?” Kris asked slowly. “Because last week you told me you hated the fragrance industry and you wanted to be a farmer.”