Chapter 1 - THE WOMAN IN RED
Isabella Rossi had her story ready before Marcus Thorne found his pregnant wife on the hospital floor.
What she hadn’t prepared for was the camera.
“She attacked me,” Isabella said.
Marcus stood in the doorway of the private hospital suite, staring at the broken champagne glass near his wife’s hand.
Khloe was seven months pregnant.
She was curled on her side in a white maternity dress, both arms wrapped around her stomach.
And she wasn’t looking at either of them.
She was whispering to their baby.
“Come on, sweetheart. Move for me.”
Ten minutes earlier, she had come upstairs to escape the charity gala.
The hospital had opened its donor hospitality wing for the evening. Downstairs, photographers crowded the ballroom while wealthy guests applauded speeches about protecting vulnerable families.
Upstairs, Isabella had closed the door.
“You were supposed to smile,” she’d told Khloe. “Have the baby. Then disappear.”
Khloe had ordered her out.
Instead, Isabella shoved her against a side table.
Then, while Khloe struggled to stay upright, Isabella kicked her in the side.
Now Marcus dropped to his knees beside his wife.
“Elaine. Get a doctor.”
The event coordinator disappeared into the hallway.
Isabella stepped closer, gathering tears like accessories.
“She got upset. I tried to help, and she—”
“Stay back.”
Marcus didn’t raise his voice.
That made Isabella stop.
Khloe caught his wrist.
“It hurts.”
“I know.”
“No. You don’t.”
Her words landed harder than shouting would have.
For weeks, she had told him Isabella was cruel when nobody else was listening.
For weeks, he had called it a misunderstanding.
A nurse rushed in, followed by another carrying emergency equipment.
Marcus moved when they told him to move.
Isabella tried again.
“Marcus, you know me.”
He looked up.
Over her shoulder, a camera sat beneath the ceiling, aimed toward the lounge entrance.
His eyes stayed on it.
Isabella followed his gaze.
Her tears stopped.
The nurse asked Khloe where she had been struck.
“My side,” Khloe whispered. “She kicked me.”
Marcus stood slowly.
Isabella’s mouth opened.
“Tell me again,” he said.
“What?”
“What happened to my wife.”
Before Isabella could answer, another nurse stepped into the doorway with a wheelchair.
“We’re taking her to obstetric triage.”
Marcus turned back to Khloe.
May you like
There was blood on the white fabric beneath her hand.
And every question he wanted answered suddenly became less important than whether she would survive long enough to hear the truth.
