Chapter 2 - Twelve Seconds of TruthMarcus watched the video once.
The second came from inside Khloe Thorne’s body.
Seven months pregnant, barefoot, and still wearing the midnight-blue gown from the charity gala downstairs, Khloe stumbled backward inside the private maternity wing of St. Augustine Medical Center.
Her hand flew to her stomach.
“Isabella—”
She never finished.
Isabella Rossi stood three feet away in a crimson designer dress, breathing hard, her face perfectly calm despite what she had just done.
One moment earlier, Isabella had driven the pointed heel of her shoe into Khloe’s lower side.
Hard.
Deliberately.
Not hard enough to leave the kind of obvious wound people photographed.
But hard enough to make a pregnant woman lose her balance.
Khloe’s back struck the edge of a marble console table.
Pain exploded through her abdomen.
She slid toward the floor.
Isabella watched.
No apology.
No panic.
Just satisfaction.
“You should have listened to me,” Isabella whispered.
Khloe stared at her.
“What is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong with me?”
Isabella gave a quiet laugh.
“You married the man I was supposed to marry.”
Marcus Thorne.
Thirty-nine.
Founder of Thorne Global Holdings.
Hotels, aviation, medical technology, commercial real estate.
Business magazines called him one of Chicago’s youngest self-made billionaires.
To Khloe, he was simply the man who forgot where he left his phone three times a day and talked to their unborn daughter whenever he thought Khloe was asleep.
And Isabella had spent six months trying to convince Khloe that Marcus belonged to her.
Anonymous messages.
Photographs cropped to look intimate.
Late-night phone calls that ended the second Khloe answered.
Rumors leaked to gossip sites.
Khloe had ignored them.
Marcus had told her Isabella was obsessed with creating drama after their relationship ended years earlier.
Tonight, Isabella had stopped pretending.
“You think carrying his baby makes you untouchable?” Isabella asked.
Khloe struggled to stand.
“My husband doesn’t love you.”
For the first time, Isabella’s smile disappeared.
“You don’t know your husband nearly as well as you think.”
Another cramp tightened across Khloe’s stomach.
She gasped.
Isabella’s eyes flicked toward the door.
Footsteps.
Someone was coming.
Her entire expression changed.
“Khloe?”
Marcus appeared at the end of the corridor.
Khloe had never been more relieved to see anyone.
“Marcus…”
He rushed toward her.
But Isabella moved faster.
She threw herself backward.
Her shoulder struck the wall.
Then she screamed.
Marcus stopped.
Isabella clutched her arm.
“She attacked me!”
Khloe stared at her.
“What?”
Isabella began crying.
“She went crazy! I came up here because she said she wanted to talk. She accused me of sleeping with you, then she grabbed me!”
“That’s a lie,” Khloe said.
Marcus looked between them.
Confusion flooded his face.
Khloe doubled over as another wave of pain hit.
“Marcus, she kicked me.”
Silence.
Isabella’s mouth fell open.
“Oh my God.”
“She kicked the baby.”
“I never touched her!”
Marcus caught Khloe as her knees weakened.
“Khloe, look at me.”
“She kicked me.”
“I didn’t!” Isabella cried. “She fell while trying to hit me!”
Two nurses ran toward them.
Marcus lifted Khloe into his arms.
“Get a doctor.”
One nurse called for emergency obstetrics.
The other reached for Khloe’s wrist.
Isabella followed.
“I swear, Marcus, she’s lying.”
Marcus turned.
His voice was terrifyingly quiet.
“Stay away from my wife.”
For the first time, Isabella looked uncertain.
Twenty minutes later, Khloe lay beneath bright hospital lights while monitors tracked her daughter’s heartbeat.
Marcus stood beside the bed, gripping the rail.
A physician examined the bruising beginning to form along Khloe’s side.
“The baby’s heart rate is stable,” Dr. Elaine Foster said. “But we’re seeing uterine irritability. We need to monitor her carefully.”
Marcus went pale.
“Could she go into labor?”
“It’s possible.”
Khloe closed her eyes.
Isabella had almost hurt their baby.
And somehow, Khloe knew the kick had not been an impulsive act.
It had been planned.
Outside the room, voices rose.
Security.
Then Isabella.
“You cannot keep me here! I’m the one who was assaulted!”
Marcus walked toward the door.
Khloe grabbed his hand.
“Don’t.”
He looked back.
“She’s lying.”
“I know.”
“No.”
Khloe’s eyes filled with tears.
“You don’t understand. She wanted you to find us like that.”
Marcus frowned.
“She knew you were coming.”
Before he could answer, the hospital’s chief security officer stepped inside.
“Mr. Thorne?”
Marcus turned.
The officer held a tablet.
“We reviewed the hallway cameras.”
Isabella stopped shouting outside.
The officer’s expression hardened.
“There’s something you both need to see.”
He placed the tablet beside Khloe’s bed.
May you like
Marcus pressed play.
And within twelve seconds, every lie Isabella Rossi had told began to collapse.
Related Stories
