The ambulance doors slammed shut, cutting off the sight of Ryan’s panic-stricken face. It wasn’t guilt on his face; it was pure terror. Not terror for me, and not even terror for the child I carried. He was terrified of exposure. He was a rising partner at his firm, a man who built his entire reputation on a veneer of flawless corporate respectability, and the thought of a police investigation, a public scandal, or a messy court battle made him sweat through his tailored shirt. / Chapter 3 / 20

Chapter 3 - The Doctor's Verdict and the Wolf at the DoorThe cold gel hit my stomach, and the room went dead silent.

The technician moved the transducer across my lower abdomen in slow, agonizing circles. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes fixed entirely on the monochrome monitor flickering with shadows and static.

"Is... is she okay?" I choked out, the air leaving my lungs.

For ten endless seconds, nobody spoke. The only sound was the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor tracking my own erratic pulse.

"The baby's heartbeat is strong," the doctor finally said, letting out a long, shuddering breath. "You suffered a severe abdominal contusion and minor placental separation from the impact, which is causing the heavy cramping and bleeding. You are on strict bed rest, Emily. Absolute rest. If you had hit the edge of that bottom stone step by six inches higher... I don't know if we would be having this conversation."

Tears spilled over my lashes, hot and fast, but they weren't tears of defeat. They were tears of pure, unadulterated venom.

Six inches. Vanessa had aimed for maximum damage. She hadn't just wanted to push me down; she had wanted me erased.

Just as the doctor finished cleaning the gel from my skin, the door swung open. Maya stood up instantly, her body stiffening into a defensive wall.

It wasn't a nurse. It was Ryan.

He looked exhausted, his tie loosened, his hair slightly disheveled. He had left Vanessa in the car—or tucked away safely in a hotel—and put on his best mask of a concerned, heartbroken husband.

"Emily," he breathed, taking a tentative step toward the bed. His eyes were wide, swimming with a sickeningly convincing display of sorrow. "Oh, thank God. How is... how is the baby?"

Maya stepped forward, raising her hand like a traffic cop. "Don't you dare take another step, Ryan. You don't get to ask about the baby after you stood on the driveway and lied to the paramedics."

Ryan's expression flickered, the mask slipping for a fraction of a second before he locked it back into place. "Maya, please. You're emotional. You didn't see what happened. Emily lost her footing; she was hysterical about the... the misunderstandings we've been having. It was a tragic accident."

I pushed myself up against the pillows, ignoring the sharp pull of pain in my shoulder and ribs. I looked straight into my husband’s eyes—the man I had loved, supported, and built a life with for seven years.

"An accident," I repeated, my voice terrifyingly calm.

"Yes, Em," he pleaded, stepping closer, lowering his voice into that soothing, manipulative register he used when he wanted to convince clients to sign a bad deal. "Let's not make this a circus. We can handle this privately. Come home, rest, and we'll work through... whatever you found. Just drop the accusations."

I reached under the hospital blanket, pulled out my phone, and tapped the screen twice.