Chapter 1 - The Shattered Glass
The silence hanging in the luxury hospital suite was heavier than the scent of crushed lilies and spilled champagne. Marcus Thorne’s presence filled the room like a sudden storm, his posture rigid beneath his tailored black tuxedo. His eyes, usually cool and calculating, locked onto the scene before him with a terrifying intensity.
Khloe lay curled on the cold marble, her white gown ruined, clutching her stomach with trembling hands. Her breath came in jagged, shallow gasps. Standing over her was Isabella Rossi, breathing heavily in blood-red silk, her face instantly melting into an expression of frantic innocence.
"Marcus!" Isabella cried, taking a hurried step toward him, her hands clasping together as if in prayer. "Thank God you’re here. She lost her mind! I came up to check on her after the gala, and she... she flew into a rage. She threw the glass at me and fell over the table. You have to believe me—I was only trying to defend myself!"
Elaine Parker, the event coordinator standing in the doorway, clutched her clipboard, paralyzed by horror. The sheer audacity of Isabella’s lie made the air in the room feel thin.
Marcus didn't utter a word. He didn't even look at Isabella. In two swift, decisive strides, he crossed the room, dropping to his knees beside Khloe. His hands, usually so steady in boardrooms worth billions, shook as he gently hovered over her.
"Khloe," Marcus choked out, his voice dropping into a desperate register no business rival had ever heard. "Don't move. Look at me, sweetheart. Look at me."
"Marcus... the baby..." Khloe gasped, tears streaming down her pale cheeks as pain radiated through her side and lower abdomen. "She... she kicked me..."
Isabella gasped loudly, placing a hand over her heart. "That’s a lie! Marcus, she’s trying to ruin me! Look at her, she’s hysterical—"
"Shut your mouth," Marcus snapped, his tone so deadly cold that Isabella’s sentence died in her throat. He didn't raise his voice, but the absolute malice behind his words made Elaine step back into the corridor.
Before Isabella could spin another thread of deceit, heavy, hurried footsteps echoed down the hallway outside. A man in a high-ranking hospital administrator's coat burst into the room, flanked by four armed security guards. This was Dr. Arthur Vance, the chief of surgery and Khloe’s maternal uncle—a detail Marcus had deliberately arranged to oversee Khloe's care during her final trimester.
Arthur’s sharp gaze swept the room, taking in the shattered glass, his niece groaning on the floor, and Isabella standing over her like a predator caught mid-pounce. His jaw tightened in immediate fury.
"Arthur," Marcus said, his eyes never leaving Khloe’s face as he lifted her gently into his arms, careful not to press against her abdomen. "Get the trauma team ready now."
"Already done. Room four is prepped," Arthur commanded, stepping aside as two trauma nurses rushed in with a gurney. Arthur turned his piercing gaze toward the head security officer. "Lock down this room. Nobody leaves. Not Ms. Rossi, not Ms. Parker. Secure every piece of glass, every surface, and download the full 4K feed from the camera hidden in the smoke detector immediately."
Isabella’s face drained of color. "A... a camera?"
"Did you really think a VIP suite reserved for the Thorne family wouldn't have high-grade surveillance?" Arthur said, his voice dripping with venom as he looked at Isabella. "You just committed attempted murder on camera, Isabella."
May you like
Panic, raw and wild, flickered in Isabella’s eyes for the first time. The mask of smooth, aristocratic charm completely shattered. As the nurses wheeled Khloe out, Marcus paused beside Isabella. He didn't strike her, nor did he yell. He simply leaned in close enough for her to smell the faint trace of rain and expensive cologne on his jacket.
"My wife and child better survive tonight, Isabella," Marcus whispered, each word carved out of solid ice. "Because if they don't, living in a cell will be the merciful option."
