CHAPTER 1 The Man in the Hallway
The first scream did not come from Khloe.
It came from Marcus.
“Call a doctor!”
His voice tore through the private hospital suite as he crossed the room in three long strides.
For one terrible second, he looked at Isabella.
Then he looked at his wife curled on the floor.
Whatever confusion had existed in his eyes disappeared.
“Khloe.”
He dropped to his knees beside her.
Khloe tried to answer, but another wave of pain crushed the breath from her lungs.
Her fingers tightened around her belly.
“Marcus…”
“I’m here.”
His hands hovered over her, afraid to touch the wrong place.
“Tell me where it hurts.”
“My back.”
She swallowed hard.
“And the baby.”
At those two words, Marcus went pale.
Behind him, Elaine Parker finally moved.
She grabbed the emergency phone beside the bed.
“Obstetric trauma team to Suite Twelve,” she said sharply. “Now.”
Isabella took one step forward.
“Marcus, you need to understand—”
He turned so quickly that she froze.
“Don’t.”
The word was quiet.
But it carried more danger than a shout.
Isabella’s lips parted.
“I was trying to protect myself.”
Marcus looked at her expensive crimson gown.
There was not a mark on it.
No torn fabric.
No bruise.
No sign of a struggle.
Then he looked back at Khloe’s white maternity gown, wrinkled from the floor, one side stained where she had struck the table.
“You said she attacked you.”
“She did.”
“How?”
Isabella blinked.
“What?”
“How did my seven-month-pregnant wife attack you?”
Her expression tightened.
“She became hysterical. She accused me of trying to steal you. Then she shoved me.”
Elaine slowly lowered the phone.
“That isn’t what I saw when the door opened.”
Isabella turned toward her.
“You saw the end.”
“I saw Mrs. Thorne on the floor.”
“You didn’t see what happened before that.”
“No,” Elaine said. “But I saw you standing over her.”
A team of nurses rushed through the doorway.
A doctor followed, pushing a mobile monitor.
“Everyone step back.”
Marcus refused to move until Khloe looked directly at him.
“Go,” she whispered. “Let them help.”
Only then did he stand.
The nurses carefully lifted Khloe onto the bed.
One attached monitors to her abdomen.
Another checked her blood pressure.
The doctor pressed gentle fingers along her lower back.
Khloe flinched.
“Any bleeding?”
“No.”
“Dizziness?”
“Yes.”
“Did you fall directly onto your abdomen?”
“No. My back hit the table.”
The doctor glanced at Marcus.
“We need imaging and continuous fetal monitoring.”
“Is the baby alive?”
Marcus’s voice broke on the last word.
A nurse adjusted the monitor.
The room held its breath.
Then—
A rapid heartbeat filled the suite.
Strong.
Fast.
Alive.
Khloe closed her eyes.
Marcus gripped the edge of the bed.
For the first time since entering the room, he allowed himself to breathe.
But the doctor did not smile.
“The heartbeat is present,” she said. “That doesn’t mean we’re in the clear.”
Marcus’s relief vanished.
“What does that mean?”
“It means trauma at this stage of pregnancy can cause complications that aren’t immediately visible.”
Khloe looked at the doctor.
“What kind of complications?”
“Placental separation. Internal bleeding. Early labor.”
Marcus’s jaw clenched.
“Do whatever you need to do.”
“We will.”
As the medical team prepared to move Khloe, Isabella started toward the door.
Elaine stepped in front of her.
“Where are you going?”
Isabella lifted her chin.
“I’m not a patient.”
“No,” Elaine said. “You’re part of an incident investigation.”
Isabella laughed once.
It was too sharp.
Too nervous.
“You’re an event director, not hospital security.”
Elaine’s face hardened.
“I’m also the person who found a pregnant woman on the floor while you stood over her.”
Marcus turned.
“You’re not leaving.”
Isabella stared at him.
“You can’t keep me here.”
“I can ask security to.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
Marcus moved closer.
“No. I made the mistake weeks ago when I let you stay near my family.”
Pain flashed across Isabella’s face.
Real pain this time.
“You know that isn’t fair.”
“Fair?”
Her eyes flicked toward the nurses.
Then toward Elaine.
She lowered her voice.
“Marcus, we need to talk privately.”
“There is nothing private between us.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do.”
Isabella’s composure slipped.
Only for a second.
But Khloe saw it from the bed.
The anger.
The possessiveness.
The certainty that Marcus belonged to her.
Then footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Slow.
Measured.
Unhurried.
A man in blue hospital scrubs appeared at the doorway.
He was in his late fifties, with silver hair, dark eyes, and an identification badge clipped to his chest.
Dr. Samuel Vale.
Chief of Surgical Operations.
Khloe’s mother’s older brother.
Her uncle.
The man who had held her hand when her father died.
The man who had warned her never to mistake wealth for protection.
Samuel took in the scene.
Khloe on the bed.
Marcus beside her.
Isabella near the door.
Broken glass across the floor.
His expression did not change.
That made him more frightening.
“What happened?”
Isabella answered first.
“Khloe attacked me.”
Samuel looked at her.
Then at Khloe.
Then at the shattered champagne flute.
He stepped inside.
“Did she?”
Isabella’s throat moved.
“Yes.”
Samuel turned to Elaine.
“Seal this floor.”
Isabella stared.
“You don’t have the authority—”
Samuel removed his identification badge and held it where she could see.
“I have enough.”
Then he looked at a security officer approaching from the hallway.
“No one leaves Suite Twelve until the footage is secured.”
The officer nodded.
Isabella’s face lost color.
“Footage?”
Samuel’s eyes settled on her.
“There are four cameras covering this corridor.”
Isabella forced a laugh.
“The incident happened inside the suite.”
Samuel glanced toward the ceiling.
“Yes.”
Then he pointed to a tiny black lens hidden above the decorative wall molding.
“And two cameras inside.”
For the first time that night, Isabella Rossi looked truly afraid.
But only Khloe noticed something even more disturbing.
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Isabella did not look surprised that a camera existed.
She looked surprised that it was still working.
