Chapter 1 - The Perfect Private Suite
Three days before Khloe fell, Marcus Vale walked through St. Aurelia Medical Center as though he owned the building.
In several ways, he nearly did.
The Vale Foundation had donated twenty-two million dollars toward the hospital’s new maternity wing. Marcus’s name appeared on plaques, fundraising brochures, and the glass wall outside the executive boardroom.
Nurses greeted him respectfully. Administrators returned his calls within minutes. Security officers recognized his car before it reached the underground entrance.
Khloe had once admired his influence.
Now it frightened her.
Her pregnancy had been classified as high risk after she experienced dizziness during a charity dinner. Dr. Elena Shaw recommended several days of observation, and Marcus immediately arranged for Khloe to stay in the hospital’s most luxurious private suite.
The room looked nothing like a normal hospital room.
It had a curved staircase leading to a private sitting area, glass railings, cream furniture, marble floors, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Medical equipment had been concealed behind polished wooden panels so that wealthy patients would not feel surrounded by illness.
Marcus called it perfect.
Khloe called it a beautiful cage.
“You will be safer here,” he told her on the first morning.
He stood at the foot of her bed wearing a dark tailored suit, his expression gentle enough to fool anyone who had not watched him closely for eight years.
Khloe had learned to watch.
She noticed how his smile disappeared whenever a nurse entered unexpectedly. She noticed how he lowered his voice during phone calls and turned his screen away from her. She noticed that he had replaced two members of the hospital security team with employees from Vale Risk Management.
Most of all, she noticed that Marcus never asked how the baby was doing unless someone else was listening.
Dr. Shaw entered carrying a tablet.
“Your blood pressure is improving,” she said. “The baby’s heartbeat is strong. I still want you resting, but there is no immediate danger.”
Khloe smiled with relief.
Marcus did not.
“How soon can she leave?” he asked.
“If her condition remains stable, perhaps in two days.”
Marcus’s jaw tightened almost invisibly.
Khloe saw it.
Dr. Shaw did not.
“I thought you wanted me home,” Khloe said after the doctor left.
“I want you safe.”
“You did not look happy when she said I was improving.”
Marcus walked to the window.
“You are imagining things.”
Khloe rested both hands over her stomach.
For months, Marcus had used that sentence whenever she questioned him.
You are imagining things.
You are too emotional.
Pregnancy is affecting your judgment.
Sometimes he said it kindly. Sometimes sharply. The effect was always the same. Khloe would doubt herself until the truth felt less reliable than his version of it.
But lately, the doubts were changing direction.
She no longer wondered whether she was imagining Marcus’s behavior.
She wondered what he was hiding.
Her phone buzzed on the bedside table.
A message appeared from an unknown number.
DO NOT EAT OR DRINK ANYTHING ISABELLA BRINGS YOU.
Khloe stared at it.
Marcus turned from the window.
“Who is that?”
She locked the screen.
“Just the pharmacy.”
Marcus held out his hand.
“Let me see.”
“It is nothing.”
His expression hardened.
Then the suite door opened.
Isabella Laurent entered carrying a bouquet of white roses and two crystal glasses filled with pale sparkling liquid.
She wore a champagne-colored gown that looked far too elegant for a hospital visit.
“My poor Khloe,” Isabella said warmly. “I came as soon as Marcus told me.”
Khloe looked at the glasses.
“What did you bring?”
“A nonalcoholic celebration drink. Marcus said the doctor had good news.”
Marcus crossed the room and kissed Isabella lightly on the cheek.
The gesture lasted less than a second.
It was still too familiar.
Khloe felt the baby move beneath her hands.
Isabella offered her one of the glasses.
Khloe remembered the message.
DO NOT EAT OR DRINK ANYTHING ISABELLA BRINGS YOU.
“No, thank you.”
Isabella’s smile remained in place.
Marcus’s did not.
“You should drink,” he said. “It will help you relax.”
Khloe looked from Marcus to Isabella.
Then she deliberately pushed the glass away.
A drop spilled onto the white bedsheet.
Isabella watched it soak into the fabric.
Her expression changed.
May you like
Not anger.
Fear.
