Chapter 1: The Trap of a Liar
Chapter 1: The Trap of a Liar
Marcus Thorne stood frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The scent of expensive perfume, metallic blood, and shattered crystal hung heavy in the air of the VIP hospital suite.
"She attacked me, Marcus! Look at what she did!" Isabella Rossi sobbed, her voice a masterclass in manufactured terror. She stumbled backward, clutching her wrist as if it were broken, her eyes wide and pooling with tears.
Marcus didn’t look at Isabella. His gaze was locked on the floor.
Khloe lay curled on the cold marble, her arms wrapped fiercely around her seven-month pregnant belly. Her face was pale, beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead as she gasped for air. The shattered fragments of a crystal champagne flute glittered around her like dangerous diamonds. A sharp, agonizing pain radiated from her side where Isabella’s heel had struck.
"Khloe!" Marcus bypassed Isabella entirely, dropping to his knees. His expensive tuxedo trousers soaked up the spilled liquid on the floor, but he didn’t care. His hands trembled as he hovered over his wife, terrified to touch her, terrified he might hurt her more. "Khloe, look at me. Breathe, sweetheart, breathe."
"The... the baby, Marcus..." Khloe whispered, her voice choking on a sob. "She kicked me... please, save our baby."
Before Marcus could process the sheer horror of her words, the door banged open completely. A tall, imposing man in a sharp grey suit stormed into the room. It was Arthur Vance—the Chief Administrator of the hospital, and more importantly, Khloe’s maternal uncle.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Arthur’s voice boomed, his eyes instantly taking in the scene. When he saw his niece on the floor, his professional facade cracked, replaced by raw fury. "Khloe!"
"Arthur, thank goodness!" Isabella cried out, trying to pivot her lie to the newcomer. "Khloe lost her mind! She started throwing things, she shattered the glass, she—"
"Shut your mouth," Arthur hissed, a cold, deadly calm settling over him. He pointed a finger at Isabella. "Do not speak another word in my hospital."
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Arthur immediately picked up the wall phone, his voice clipping with authority. "Emergency trauma team to VIP Suite 402. Now! Pregnant female, blunt force trauma to the abdomen. And call hospital security to lock down this floor!"
Isabella’s breath hitched. She realized, a second too late, that she had miscalculated. She thought this was just another hospital. She had forgotten who ran it.
