Chapter 2 - The Uncut Footage
The Obstetric Intensive Care Unit was quiet, filled only with the soft, steady beep of the fetal heart monitor.
I lay in the bed, an IV line hooked into my arm, watching the digital screen beside me. Beside my bed, Uncle Arthur was carefully adjusting the ultrasound wand over my abdomen.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
The fast, healthy heartbeat of our baby girl filled the room.
I closed my eyes and let out a long, shuddering breath of relief. Tears spilled onto my cheeks, washing away the lingering horror of the attack.
"Placenta is intact," Arthur announced, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand as he smiled down at me. "No internal hemorrhaging. Her heart rate is stable. You have a minor contusion on your lower spine and some severe bruising on your hip where her shoe hit you, Khloe, but the baby protected by the amniotic sac. You both survived."
"Thank God..." I breathed, clutching Arthur's hand. "Thank God, Uncle Arthur."
"Now," Arthur’s warm smile instantly vanished, replaced by an expression of cold, calculated severity. "It’s time to deal with the monster who did this to you."
At that exact moment, the heavy oak doors of the ICU room pushed open. Marcus walked in, accompanied by Richard Vance—his lead corporate litigation lawyer—and two uniformed detectives from the City Police Department’s Special Victims Unit.
Marcus walked straight to the side of my bed. Seeing the healthy heart rate monitor on the screen, the immense tension in his shoulders finally gave way slightly. He leaned down, pressing his face into the crook of my neck, inhaling my scent as if he had just survived an explosion.
"She's okay, Marcus," I whispered, running my fingers through his hair. "Our little girl is fine."
Marcus kissed my shoulder, then pulled back, his face turning back into a mask of pure, unyielding steel.
"She tried to lie, Khloe," Marcus said, pulling a encrypted flash drive from his pocket and placing it on the bedside table. "When I reached the security control room, Isabella’s father, Senator Victor Rossi, was already on the phone with the hospital chief administrator, demanding that the surveillance tapes from the private corridor be wiped due to a 'technical glitch.'"
I frowned. "Did they erase them?"
Marcus let out a dark, dangerous chuckle. "They tried. What Victor Rossi didn't know is that six months ago, after the first threat against your life, I personally funded a $5 million military-grade security upgrade for this entire wing. The suite's private cameras don't feed into the hospital's central server. They feed directly into my private server at Vance Cyber Defense."
Detective Miller step forward, pulling out an official evidence bag. "Mrs. Thorne, we have already reviewed the footage. It is... astounding."
Richard Vance, Marcus’s lawyer, opened his tablet and tilted the screen toward us.
The video was crystal clear, recorded in 4K resolution with high-fidelity directional audio.
The video showed everything.
It showed me sitting quietly on the sofa, resting my feet. It showed Isabella Rossi unlocking the door with a stolen master key, walking into the room with an expression of pure, unadulterated venom.
The audio picked up every single word.
“You were never supposed to stand beside him,” Isabella’s voice echoed clearly from the tablet speakers. “You were supposed to smile for the cameras, give him the child he wanted… and disappear.”
The video showed me telling her to leave. It captured the exact moment Isabella stepped forward, her face twisted in rage, and violently shoved me into the marble table. It showed the crystal glass shattering. It showed me collapsing onto the floor, holding my belly.
And then came the most horrifying part of the tape.
The video captured Isabella standing over my helpless body, looking down at me with cold disgust, and deliberately swinging her stiletto heel straight into my ribcage while I screamed in agony. It caught the exact moment Marcus opened the door, and it captured Isabella’s face instantly shifting from sadistic cruelty to fake, terrified weeping within half a second.
"This isn't just assault, Mr. Thorne," Detective Miller said, closing his notebook with a sharp snap. "This is attempted murder of an unborn child, felony assault with a deadly weapon, and filing a false police report. With this video footage, no judge in this state will grant her bail."
"Good," Marcus said coldly. "Because I don't want her on bail. I want her in a cell tonight."
"Wait," I spoke up, looking at the screen. "Where is Isabella right now?"
Marcus’s eyes narrowed into slits. "She’s downstairs in the VIP waiting room with her father’s lawyers, drinking espresso and preparing a statement for the press claiming you tried to push her down the stairs."
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I looked at Marcus, a cold, unwavering calm settling over me.
"Then let's go downstairs, husband," I said quietly, pulling the IV tape off my arm. "It’s time to show the press her statement."
