Chapter 3 - The Public Execution
The grand lobby of Saint Jude International Hospital was filled with dozens of journalists, camera crews, and high-society patrons who had come upstairs from the charity gala after rumors of an altercation began circulating.
Senator Victor Rossi stood at the center of the room, flanked by four expensive defense attorneys. Isabella sat behind him on a plush leather sofa, wearing a borrowed white coat over her crimson gown, holding a handkerchief to her eyes, dabbing at fake tears whenever a camera flash went off.
"My daughter was viciously harassed!" Senator Rossi boomed into the cluster of microphones pushed toward his face. "Khloe Thorne has shown time and again that she is mentally unstable and unsuited for high society! She attacked my innocent daughter out of blind jealousy! We will be filing a fifty-million-dollar lawsuit against the Thorne family immediately!"
The reporters murmured excitedly, cameras flashing rapidly.
"Is that so, Senator?"
A deep, reverberating voice cut through the noise of the lobby like a lightning bolt.
The crowd instantly parted.
Marcus walked out of the private elevator bank, wearing his dark tuxedo, his expression terrifyingly calm. Beside him walked Uncle Arthur in his white doctor's coat, Richard Vance carrying a leather briefcase, and two detectives.
And beside Marcus, holding his arm with absolute grace and poise, was me.
I wore a simple blue hospital robe wrapped securely over my bump, my hair pulled back, my head held high. Though my body was bruised, my eyes held a fire that made the gathered reporters gasp in shock.
"Mrs. Thorne!" a reporter yelled. "Did you attack Isabella Rossi?"
"Look at her!" Senator Rossi sneered, pointing at me. "She comes out here looking for sympathy! My daughter is the real victim here!"
"Victor," Marcus spoke, his voice dangerously smooth as he stopped ten feet away from the politician. "You have thirty seconds to step away from your daughter before I destroy your entire career along with hers."
"How dare you threatening me!" Rossi shouted, looking at the news cameras. "The public knows the truth! Isabella is an innocent philanthropist!"
"Is she?" I stepped forward, looking directly at Isabella.
Isabella froze. Seeing me standing there on my own two feet, looking completely untamed and unafraid, a flash of genuine panic flickered in her eyes.
"Uncle Arthur," I said quietly. "Turn on the lobby displays."
With a single tap on Arthur’s tablet, the ten massive high-definition screens lining the hospital lobby—which normally displayed medical achievements and donor lists—instantly flickered and changed.
The raw, uncut 4K footage of the private suite began playing simultaneously on every single monitor.
The sound system in the lobby broadcasted the crystal-clear audio across the entire room.
“You were supposed to smile for the cameras, give him the child he wanted… and disappear.”
The lobby went completely, dead silent.
Reporters stopped shouting. Photographers lowered their cameras in sheer disbelief. Senator Rossi’s jaw dropped so low his face looked distorted.
On the screens, everyone watched in horrifying detail as Isabella shoved me into the table. They watched the glass shatter. They watched me fall onto the marble floor, wrapping my arms around my baby.
And then, the entire room gasped in unified horror as the video clearly showed Isabella kicking my pregnant body with her stiletto heel.
The audio captured my agonizing scream, followed by Isabella’s instant transformation into fake tears the second Marcus opened the door.
“She attacked me,” Isabella’s recorded voice echoed through the lobby. “I was only defending myself.”
The video paused on a freeze-frame of Isabella’s sadistic smile right before she kicked me.
The silence in the lobby lasted for three horrifying seconds before the room exploded into absolute chaos.
"Oh my God!" a woman in the crowd shrieked. "She tried to kill the baby!"
"Look at that! She kicked a pregnant woman!" a photographer yelled, furiously snapping pictures of Isabella’s horror-stricken face.
Isabella scrambled off the sofa, her hands shaking violently as she looked up at the screens showing her crime over and over again. "No! No! Turn it off! That's fake! It's an AI deepfake! Dad, tell them it's fake!"
Senator Rossi looked at the screen, then at the outrage on the faces of the press, and finally at Detective Miller, who was stepping forward with pair of steel handcuffs.
Rossi took two steps back from his own daughter, completely abandoning her. "I... I had no knowledge of this..."
"Father!" Isabella screamed, her voice cracking in utter terror as Detective Miller grabbed her wrists. "Father, help me! Don't let them touch me!"
"Isabella Rossi," Detective Miller announced loudly over the noise of the flashing cameras. "You are under arrest for attempted murder, felony assault, and obstruction of justice. You have the right to remain silent..."
As the steel handcuffs clicked around Isabella’s wrists, Marcus stepped directly into her path.
Isabella looked up at him, tears of genuine terror finally spilling down her face. "Marcus... please... I loved you... I did it for us—"
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"You didn't do it for us, Isabella," Marcus said, his voice as cold as grave dirt. "You did it because you are a sick, cruel narcissist. And by sunrise tomorrow, every bank account, property, and business asset associated with the Rossi family will be subjected to an emergency federal freeze. You wanted my attention? Now you have my full, undivided power."
The police dragged Isabella out of the front doors of the hospital into a waiting police cruiser, surrounded by dozens of flashing cameras and shouting reporters. Her public image, her high-society status, and her life were shattered beyond repair in a matter of minutes.
