Chapter 1
Khloe Thorne had one hand on her stomach when Isabella Rossi stepped in front of the door.
Downstairs, the charity gala music still drifted faintly through the private hospital wing.
Soft piano.
Polite applause.
Champagne laughter.
Upstairs, in the luxury hospital suite, everything felt too bright and too quiet.
Khloe stood beside the marble side table in a pale evening gown, a soft hospital robe slipping from one shoulder. Seven months pregnant, exhausted from the gala, she had come upstairs because the baby had been kicking hard and the room had started spinning.
She never expected Isabella to follow her.
Isabella wore a black designer dress and pointed heels. Her makeup was perfect, but her face was not.
It was twisted with jealousy.
With hatred.
With something that had been waiting too long to show itself.
Khloe backed away.
“Isabella, move.”
Isabella stepped closer.
“You were supposed to stay quiet.”
Khloe wrapped both arms around her belly.
Then Isabella lunged.
Both hands slammed into Khloe’s chest and shoulders.
Khloe crashed backward into the marble table.
A crystal flute tipped, hit the floor, and shattered.
The sound snapped through the room like a warning.
Khloe gasped, one hand gripping the table edge, the other protecting her stomach.
“Get away from me.”
Isabella’s eyes flashed.
She stepped in again.
Before Khloe could recover, Isabella drove the pointed heel of her designer shoe into Khloe’s lower side and hip.
Pain shot through Khloe’s body.
She collapsed onto the floor, curling around her belly with both arms.
The hospital monitor beeped beside the bed.
The gala music below felt impossibly far away.
Isabella stood over her.
“You were never supposed to matter.”
Then the suite door burst open.
Marcus Thorne rushed in wearing his black tuxedo, bow tie loosened, breath uneven like he had run from the ballroom.
He froze.
His pregnant wife was on the floor.
Broken glass surrounded her.
Isabella stood above her.
For one single second, Marcus saw Isabella’s real face.
Then she changed it.
Tears appeared instantly.
Her voice broke into a performance.
“She attacked me.”
Marcus did not move.
Khloe looked up at him, pale and shaking, both hands still locked around her stomach.
Behind him, another man entered fast.
Elliot Vance.
Khloe’s uncle.
Hospital administrator.
Dark suit.
Executive badge.
Two security staff behind him.
Elliot looked once at Khloe.
Once at the glass.
Once at Isabella.
Then he pointed to the ceiling corner.
A small hospital security camera stared down at all of them.
His voice was cold.
“The camera recorded everything.”
Isabella’s tears stopped.
Just like that.
No sob.
No confusion.
No innocence.
Only fear.
Marcus turned slowly toward the camera.
May you like
Then back to Isabella.
And in that moment, every lie she had ever told him began dying at once.
