She thought one vicious kick to a billionaire’s pregnant wife, inside the privacy of a luxury hospital suite, would end a marriage without consequences.
She thought one vicious kick to a billionaire’s pregnant wife, inside the privacy of a luxury hospital suite, would end a marriage without consequences.
She was wrong.
The attack unfolded too fast for anyone to dismiss it as just another clash between wealthy socialites.
Khloe Thorne was seven months pregnant.
She was already drained after the charity gala downstairs.
The endless camera flashes.
The hollow congratulations.
The suffocating scent of expensive perfume.
She had barely regained her footing when the force of the shove sent her stumbling backward.
Her back slammed into the sharp edge of a marble table.
A bolt of pain shot through her body.
Across the room, Isabella Rossi didn't even blink.
Dressed in a flawless crimson gown, she lifted her chin with the confidence of a woman who believed victory was already hers.
For weeks, she had been poisoning Khloe's marriage.
Calculated smiles.
Subtle insults.
Lingering glances at Marcus that turned every public appearance into a private humiliation.
Tonight, there would be no pretending.
No polite smiles.
No carefully maintained façade.
Only raw hatred.
"You should have known your place," Isabella said, her voice cold enough to freeze the room.
"Smile for the cameras. Give him an heir. Then quietly disappear."
Khloe instinctively wrapped her arms around her belly.
"Leave."
Isabella ignored the warning.
She lunged forward.
Both hands slammed into Khloe's chest, sending her crashing into the marble table once again.
A cry escaped Khloe's lips.
A crystal champagne flute tipped off the table.
It shattered across the polished floor.
Khloe reached out, desperate to steady herself.
She couldn't.
Isabella stepped closer.
Her expression hardened into something merciless.
Then the pointed heel of her stiletto drove into Khloe's side.
The impact knocked her to the floor.
Blinding pain tore through her abdomen.
The air rushed from her lungs.
For one terrifying moment, she couldn't even scream.
She didn't think about fighting back.
She only curled around the baby growing inside her.
The suite door burst open.
Marcus Thorne stood frozen in the doorway, still wearing the black tuxedo from the gala.
Behind him, event coordinator Elaine Parker stopped dead in her tracks.
Silence consumed the room.
Khloe lay curled on the marble floor.
Her white maternity gown was wrinkled and stained.
Isabella stood over her in blood-red silk, breathing heavily.
Shards of crystal sparkled beneath the chandelier.
Marcus took in the scene.
This wasn't a misunderstanding.
It was a brutal assault.
Isabella reacted instantly.
The anger vanished.
Tears welled in her eyes.
Her voice trembled with perfectly rehearsed fear.
"She attacked me."
She pointed straight at Khloe.
Every word sounded believable.
Time seemed to freeze.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
None of them realized every second had already been recorded by the hospital's security cameras.
Nor did they know the man racing toward the suite wasn't just another hospital employee.
He was Khloe's uncle.
Within minutes, the footage would reveal the truth.
Every lie would crumble.
Every betrayal would be exposed.
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And the people who believed they could destroy a billionaire's family without consequences...
were about to learn just how devastating that mistake would be.
