Chapter 2
Khloe had not wanted to attend the charity gala.
That was the truth Marcus would later punish himself for ignoring.
She had told him she was tired.
Her feet were swollen.
Her back hurt.
The pregnancy had been harder than either of them expected.
But the gala was important.
The Thorne Foundation had donated the new pediatric cardiac wing to St. Aurelia Medical Center, and Marcus was expected to speak.
“My mother’s name is on the program,” he said gently that afternoon. “It’s only an hour downstairs. Then I’ll bring you back up.”
Khloe had touched his face.
“One hour.”
“One hour,” he promised.
The promise lasted twenty minutes.
Then board members surrounded him.
Donors pulled him into photographs.
Reporters asked about the foundation expansion.
And Isabella Rossi appeared at his side like she belonged there.
Isabella was the foundation’s public relations director.
Beautiful.
Polished.
Always useful.
Always near Marcus when cameras appeared.
She had worked for the Thorne Foundation for three years, and for two of those years, she had convinced herself she understood Marcus better than his wife did.
She knew his schedule.
His donors.
His speeches.
His favorite bourbon.
His mother’s old stories.
She knew how grief sat under his smile when the pediatric wing was mentioned.
She knew almost everything except the thing that mattered.
Marcus loved Khloe.
Isabella thought love could be outlasted.
Khloe noticed the way Isabella looked at him.
She noticed the late-night messages marked urgent when nothing was urgent.
The way Isabella corrected staff by saying, “Marcus prefers…”
The way she smiled at Khloe’s pregnancy like it was a temporary inconvenience.
Once, at a foundation dinner, Isabella placed a hand on Khloe’s shoulder and said, “You must feel strange watching your body change so much while Marcus is in the prime of his life.”
Khloe stared at her.
Marcus had been across the room.
Too far to hear.
Khloe answered quietly, “Isabella, jealousy is louder than you think.”
Isabella’s smile froze.
From that moment, the gloves came off.
Not publicly.
Never publicly.
Isabella was too smart for that.
She began planting small doubts.
Khloe was fragile.
Khloe was overwhelmed.
Khloe disliked foundation attention.
Khloe wanted Marcus to step back from public work.
Khloe might not be stable after the baby came.
Marcus did not believe all of it.
But he believed enough to worry.
That was Isabella’s skill.
She did not need to become the truth.
Only a shadow near it.
Khloe tried to warn him.
“She wants me out of the way.”
Marcus looked tired.
“Isabella is intense, but she’s loyal to the foundation.”
“She is loyal to being beside you.”
He frowned.
“That’s not fair.”
“No,” Khloe said softly. “What isn’t fair is me having to prove a woman hates me before you believe she’s capable of it.”
Marcus had apologized later.
But apology did not undo the damage of hesitation.
Elliot Vance believed Khloe immediately.
He was her mother’s younger brother, a calm man with silver at his temples and a hospital badge that opened doors most people did not even notice.
When Khloe called him two weeks before the gala and said, “I think Isabella is trying to isolate me,” Elliot did not ask if she was sure.
He asked, “What has she done?”
Khloe told him everything.
The comments.
The messages.
The way Isabella arranged for Khloe’s upstairs suite to be moved away from the main family area during the gala because “pregnancy needs quiet.”
The way she insisted Marcus’s speech run longer.
The way she kept asking which elevators were private.
Elliot listened.
Then said, “I’ll move security monitoring to the VIP wing tonight.”
“You think she’ll do something?”
“I think people who feel entitled to another person’s life become dangerous when they feel time running out.”
Khloe placed one hand on her belly.
“I don’t want to make a scene.”
May you like
Elliot’s voice softened.
“Khloe, the scene already exists. We’re just making sure it has witnesses.”
