Chapter 3 - Thirty WeeksKhloe woke to pain before she woke to light.
It rolled through her in waves, deep and dragging, pulling her out of darkness and into a world of machines, whispered commands, and pressure around her hand.
Someone was holding it.
Marcus.
She knew before she opened her eyes.
His thumb moved across her knuckles in slow circles, the way he used to calm her during thunderstorms when they were first married and still living in the small penthouse before the Thorne fortune became a public cage.
“Khloe?” His voice cracked. “Can you hear me?”
Her eyes fluttered open.
The room blurred.
White ceiling.
IV line.
Monitor.
Marcus’s face above hers, ruined with fear.
“Baby,” he whispered. “You’re awake.”
Khloe tried to speak, but her throat burned.
Marcus reached for a cup with a straw and helped her take a tiny sip.
“The baby?” she whispered.
His expression shifted.
Not enough to hide the truth.
Enough to tell her he wanted to.
Khloe’s pulse jumped.
“Marcus.”
“They’re monitoring him,” he said carefully. “His heart rate dropped. They gave you medication to stop the contractions, but…”
“But what?”
The door opened before Marcus could answer.
Dr. Nadine Keller entered with Elias beside her. Keller was calm, compact, and serious, the kind of doctor who did not waste words because lives often depended on the ones she chose.
“Khloe,” she said gently. “Your baby is alive. His heartbeat is present. But the trauma triggered preterm labor, and his oxygen patterns are concerning.”
Khloe’s hand moved to her stomach.
“He’s too early.”
“He is early,” Dr. Keller said. “But thirty weeks is not hopeless. We have steroids on board to help his lungs. Neonatal specialists are ready.”
Tears slid from the corners of Khloe’s eyes.
“Do I have a choice?”
Dr. Keller paused.
“That depends on the next few minutes. If the fetal distress worsens, we need to deliver.”
Marcus bowed his head beside the bed.
Khloe looked at him.
For weeks, she had imagined the moment he would finally believe her.
She had pictured herself angry.
Vindicated.
Cold.
But now, seeing him broken beside her, she felt only exhaustion.
“You saw?” she whispered.
His eyes lifted.
“The camera?”
He nodded.
“Everything?”
“Everything.”
Khloe closed her eyes.
She should have felt relief.
Instead, she felt something heavier.
Because proof did not undo pain.
Proof did not erase the way Marcus had doubted her.
Proof did not place her baby safely back beneath her heart.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Not the smooth apology of a billionaire used to repairing problems with a check.
Not the public apology he gave shareholders when markets dipped.
This was stripped bare.
Human.
Too late.
“I should have protected you.”
Khloe opened her eyes. “You should have believed me.”
The words landed harder than any scream.
Marcus did not defend himself.
“I know.”
Outside the room, voices rose again.
Elias turned toward the door.
“What is it?” Khloe asked.
Marcus’s face hardened. “Rossi.”
Her heart twisted.
“Isabella?”
“In custody.”
Khloe stared at him.
For a second, she could almost see Isabella in the suite again, red silk flashing beneath crystal light, eyes empty of remorse.
“She said I attacked her.”
“She lied.”
“She always lies.”
“I know.”
Khloe wanted to laugh, but the pain made her gasp.
The monitor changed tone.
Dr. Keller moved instantly.
Elias stepped to the side.
Marcus gripped Khloe’s hand.
“What’s happening?” Khloe asked, panic rising.
Dr. Keller’s eyes went to the fetal monitor.
Another nurse entered fast.
“The decels are deeper,” the nurse said.
Khloe understood enough.
Decelerations.
Her baby’s heartbeat was falling.
Dr. Keller looked at Marcus, then at Khloe.
“We need to move.”
“No,” Khloe whispered. “Please. Please, not yet.”
Dr. Keller leaned close. “Khloe, I know you’re scared. But the safest place for him may no longer be inside.”
Marcus’s face had gone pale.
Khloe turned to him.
For years, she had stood beside Marcus while newspapers called her lucky. Lucky to marry him. Lucky to wear his ring. Lucky to enter his world.
Nobody understood that his world came with women like Isabella and men like Vittorio Rossi—people who smiled in photographs while sharpening knives in private.
Now that world had reached inside her body.
It had touched her child.
Khloe squeezed Marcus’s hand.
“Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“If something happens to me, you choose him.”
His whole face changed.
“Don’t.”
“Promise.”
“No.”
“Marcus.”
He bent over her hand, pressing his forehead to her fingers. “I am not choosing between my wife and my son.”
A tear fell from his face onto her skin.
Dr. Keller’s voice cut through the room.
“We’re going now.”
The bed began to move.
Ceiling lights passed above Khloe one by one.
Marcus walked beside her until the operating room doors.
A nurse stopped him.
He looked ready to fight the entire hospital.
Elias stepped in. “They’ll prepare you. You can join once she’s sterile.”
Marcus nodded, barely.
Khloe looked at him as the doors opened.
“Marcus.”
“I’m here.”
“Don’t let them bury this.”
His eyes changed.
The husband disappeared.
The billionaire remained.
Cold.
Focused.
Dangerous.
“I won’t.”
May you like
The doors swung shut between them.
And somewhere inside the surgical wing, Khloe Thorne began to fight for two lives.
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