The sound of the impact echoed through the luxury hospital suite before anyone could understand what had happened.
Khloe Thorne was seven months pregnant.
Only an hour earlier, she had been standing beneath thousands of dollars' worth of crystal chandeliers at the charity gala downstairs, smiling for cameras and shaking hands with people whose names she barely remembered.
Now she was on the floor.
Her white silk maternity dress was stained against the cold marble. One hand was wrapped protectively around her stomach while the other struggled to find something solid enough to hold.
Across the room stood Isabella Rossi.
For several seconds, neither woman spoke.
The silence was almost worse than the pain.
Isabella looked completely composed.
Her crimson gown fell perfectly around her body. Her dark hair remained flawless. Her makeup showed no sign of the struggle that had just taken place.
Only her breathing betrayed her.
She was breathing quickly.
Khloe stared at her.
"Why?"
The word came out barely above a whisper.
Isabella's eyes narrowed.
"Because you never listen."
Khloe's fingers tightened around her stomach.
For weeks, Isabella had been appearing everywhere.
At charity dinners.
At corporate celebrations.
At private family events.
Always near Marcus Thorne.
Always smiling.
Always touching his arm just a second longer than necessary.
Always making Khloe feel as though she were standing inside her own marriage as an unwanted guest.
At first, Khloe had tried to ignore it.
She told herself Isabella was simply ambitious.
After all, Isabella had worked closely with several companies connected to the Thorne family. She was intelligent, beautiful, socially connected, and extremely good at making powerful people feel important.
But then the comments began.
Small comments.
Sharp comments.
Invisible to everyone except Khloe.
"You look tired."
"Pregnancy must be difficult for women like you."
"Marcus has always preferred strong women."
And once, during a dinner attended by dozens of guests, Isabella had leaned toward Khloe and whispered:
"Men like Marcus eventually get bored with perfect wives."
Khloe had said nothing.
She had refused to give Isabella the satisfaction.
But tonight, something had changed.
The charity gala had been held to raise money for a children's medical foundation. Marcus had donated millions of dollars. Khloe had spent months helping organize the event.
She had smiled until her cheeks hurt.
She had answered questions about the baby.
She had endured reporters asking whether the pregnancy would change the Thorne family empire.
She had even laughed when a journalist asked whether Marcus was nervous about becoming a father.
"Terrified," she had replied.
Marcus had kissed her forehead.
For one beautiful moment, everything had felt normal.
Then Isabella had appeared.
She had stood across the ballroom watching them.
And Khloe had seen something in her eyes.
Not jealousy.
Possession.
Later, when Khloe became exhausted, she had gone upstairs to the private hospital suite that had been reserved for emergencies during the gala. Her pregnancy had been complicated enough that Marcus's doctors insisted she have immediate medical support nearby.
She had expected to rest for twenty minutes.
Instead, Isabella had followed her.
At first, Khloe thought she wanted to apologize.
She was wrong.
"You were never supposed to stand beside him," Isabella said.
Khloe looked at her.
"What are you talking about?"
"You were supposed to smile for the cameras, give him the child he wanted, and disappear."
Khloe slowly pushed herself upright.
"Leave."
Isabella laughed.
"You still think you can order me around?"
"This is a hospital."
"I know."
"You need to leave."
"No."
Isabella stepped closer.
Khloe saw the hatred in her eyes.
"How long?" Isabella asked.
"How long what?"
"How long did you think you could keep him?"
Khloe shook her head.
"You need help."
That sentence changed everything.
Isabella's expression hardened.
She moved forward.
Her hands struck Khloe with sudden force.
Khloe stumbled backward.
Her back slammed into the marble edge of a table.
Pain shot through her body.
A crystal champagne glass fell from the table.
It struck the floor.
Shattered.
Khloe gasped.
"My baby..."
She tried to steady herself.
Isabella moved closer.
"Don't pretend you're innocent."
"I didn't do anything to you."
"You took everything."
"I married my husband."
"You took my future."
Khloe stared at her.
"You never had a future with Marcus."
Isabella's face twisted.
Then her stiletto struck Khloe's side.
Khloe collapsed.
Her breath disappeared.
For several terrifying seconds, she could not move.
She wrapped both arms around her stomach.
"Please..."
She wasn't speaking to Isabella.
She was speaking to her unborn child.
"Please be okay."
Then the door exploded open.
"Khloe!"
Marcus Thorne stood in the doorway.
Behind him was Elaine Parker, the event coordinator.
Marcus froze.
His eyes moved from his wife to Isabella.
Then to the shattered glass.
Then back to Khloe.
"What happened?"
Isabella immediately began crying.