"Khloe... Khloe, look at me," Marcus choked out, his usual cold, billionaire facade completely shattering. "I'm here. I've got you."
"Marcus... the baby... it hurts so bad," Khloe whimpered, her voice barely audible. Blood was beginning to stain the hem of her white maternity dress.
Before Isabella could spin another lie, heavy, rapid footsteps thundered down the hallway. A man in a white lab coat rushed into the room, flanked by four armed hospital security guards. It was Dr. Arthur Vance, the chief of surgery—and Khloe’s maternal uncle.
Arthur took one look at his niece on the floor and his eyes turned to pure ice. He didn't waste a second. "Get her onto a gurney immediately! Prepare Operating Room 3!" He turned his blazing glare toward Isabella, who was trying to slip out of the room. "Hold on right there, Ms. Rossi. You aren't going anywhere."