Chapter 1 - The Cold Marble Floor
The pain radiated from the small of my back down through my hips, sharp and relentless, like a jagged piece of ice lodged deep within my bones.
I was lying on the sterile marble floor of my private suite at St. Jude’s Memorial Hospital, my cheek pressed against the freezing tile. The sharp smell of bleach and antiseptic was suffocating. Every breath took immense effort, pulling shallow gasps of air into my lungs while my arms remained locked in an instinctive, desperate cradle around my seven-month pregnant belly.
Above me stood Isabella.
Her dark hair was styled into an immaculate bun, not a single strand out of place. Her designer silk dress clung to her frame, but what commanded my terror was her foot. Her right leg was extended, the point of her sharp, stiletto red heel pressed directly into my ribs, pinning me down like a collector mounting a butterfly.
"You should have signed the papers, Khloe," Isabella whispered, her voice dangerously calm, barely audible over the hum of the heart monitor behind us. "You thought Marcus’s love would protect you? You’re a placeholder. You always were."
I opened my mouth to scream, but only a dry rasp escaped. Panic clawed at my chest. I could feel my baby kicking frantically inside me—a small, helpless life reacting to its mother's terror.
Please, God, no, I prayed silently. Not my baby.
Suddenly, the heavy oak door of the hospital room swung open with a muffled bang.
"KHLOE!"
Marcus stood in the doorway. His necktie was loosened, his dark jacket unbuttoned, his face pale with horror. The briefcase in his hand slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
Isabella's face turned ghost-white in a fraction of a second.
The instant Marcus's voice echoed through the room, she yanked her foot away as if she had stepped on a burning coal. She stumbled backward, her red heels clicking loudly on the marble, her hand flying to her chest.
I gasped, finally able to draw air into my lungs, curling tighter into a fetal position to shield my stomach. "Marcus..." I managed to choke out.
Marcus rushed toward me, his boots thundering across the tile. But before he could reach my side, Isabella recovered. Her posture shifted instantly, her shoulders slumping, her face twisting into a masterpiece of utter heartbreak and horror.
May you like
She pointed a trembling finger down at me, and within seconds, real tears welled up and spilled over her eyelashes.
“SHE FELL!” Isabella cried out, her voice trembling perfectly, filled with panicked concern. “Marcus, thank God you’re here! I was just trying to help her up—she slipped on the water by the bed!”
