Chapter 7 - The Hidden QueenInside her hospital room, the sunlight streamed through the massive windows, casting a warm glow over Khloe’s pale face.
She was resting her hand on her swollen belly, feeling the soft, rhythmic kicks of her baby. Every little movement was a miracle. Every kick was a reminder that they had survived.
"His heartbeat is strong today, Khloe," Uncle Richard said gently, wiping the ultrasound gel from her stomach. "You are doing amazing. But you need to eat more. You're too thin."
"Hospital food tastes like cardboard, Uncle Rick," Khloe managed a weak smile.
Richard sighed, putting the ultrasound wand away. "Marcus had a Michelin-star chef flown in from Paris this morning. There is a cart of five-star cuisine sitting in the hallway. You just have to say the word."
Khloe’s smile vanished. Her eyes grew distant and cold. "Tell the chef to go back to Paris. I don't want anything paid for by Marcus Thorne."
Richard nodded, knowing better than to push her. "Understood. By the way... I brought you this."
He reached into his medical bag and pulled out a sleek, untraceable tablet. He handed it to her. "You asked me for internet access outside of Marcus's monitored Wi-Fi. Here it is."
"Thank you," Khloe whispered, taking the device.
Since waking up, Khloe hadn't just been crying. She had been thinking. She knew Isabella Rossi better than Marcus did. She knew the toxic heiress wouldn't just accept defeat. Isabella operated on spite and entitlement.
When Richard left the room, Khloe booted up the tablet. She bypassed the news sites screaming about the viral video and logged into a secure, encrypted financial server.
What Marcus didn't know—what no one in New York high society knew—was that Khloe wasn't just a pretty face who married into billions. The Sterling-Hayes boutique hotels on the West Coast were highly successful, but her parents were merely the public face of the operation. The strategic genius, the silent CEO pulling the strings and multiplying their profit margins for the last five years, was Khloe.
She had stepped back when she married Marcus to play the role of the dutiful billionaire's wife, a sacrifice he never fully appreciated.
Khloe checked the hotel chain's internal analytics. Instantly, warning lights flashed on her screen. Suspicious web traffic, coordinated negative reviews flooding Yelp and TripAdvisor, and murmurs of a major investigative exposé being teased by Rossi-owned media outlets.
So, that’s your play, Isabella, Khloe thought, her jaw tightening. You want to destroy my family.
A fierce, protective maternal instinct flared inside her. She wasn't going to wait for Marcus to rescue her family. She was done relying on him to protect her.
Khloe opened a secure messaging app and typed a message to her West Coast legal and PR teams.
Khloe: Execute Protocol Blackout. Pull all our advertising from Rossi Media networks instantly. Counter-sue for defamation before their articles even drop. And leak the Rossi family's offshore tax evasion files to the feds.
Team Lead (typing...): Ma'am? Are you sure? The tax files will trigger an IRS raid on Vincenzo.
Khloe: I want them ruined before dinnertime. Do it.
May you like
She locked the tablet and placed it under her pillow. Isabella thought she was fighting a helpless pregnant woman. She was about to find out she had declared war on a queen.
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