Chapter 5 - Whispers in the Dark
When I opened my eyes again, the bright morning sun was streaming through high, sheer curtains.
The room smelled faintly of lavender and antiseptic, a different private suite on the hospital’s high-risk obstetrics floor.
I slowly brought my hands down to my stomach, feeling the firm, rounded shape beneath the thin hospital gown.
A rhythmic, steady sound echoed beside me—*thump-thump, thump-thump*.
The fetal monitor showed a calm, steady green line.
"She's safe, Mrs. Vance," a gentle voice spoke from the corner of the room.
A young nurse with warm brown eyes was adjusting my intravenous drip, offering me a sympathetic smile.
"The contractions stopped around four in the morning," she explained softly. "The medications worked."
I closed my eyes and let out a shuddering, broken breath of pure gratitude.
"Where is Marcus?" I asked, my voice hoarse and raw from hours of stress.
The nurse hesitated, her eyes flickering toward the locked wooden door leading to the hallway.
"Mr. Vance was asked to wait in the private lobby downstairs by hospital security," she murmured.
"And Isabella?" I asked, my chest tightening with renewed dread.
"Police took her into custody last night," the nurse replied. "Detective Miller is outside waiting to speak with you."
Before I could answer, the door clicked open, and Arthur stepped inside, looking exhausted and disheveled.
His tie was undone, his suit jacket wrinkled, and dark circles shadowed his eyes.
"Leave us for a moment, please," Arthur told the nurse, holding up his corporate security badge.
The nurse nodded silently, checking the IV line one last time before slipping out into the hall.
Arthur pulled up a leather armchair beside my bed, sitting down with a heavy, bone-deep sigh.
"How are you feeling, Khloe?" he asked, his tone gentler than I had ever heard it before.
"Like my entire life was built on a foundation of quicksand," I answered honestly, staring at the ceiling.
Arthur rubbed his temples, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees.
"I spent all night reviewing the financial records from the firm's private servers," Arthur said quietly.
My heart began to hammer against my ribs. "And? Did Marcus transfer that money?"
"Yes," Arthur said simply.
The word fell like a guillotine blade, severing the last shred of hope lingering in my soul.
"He paid to have my brakes cut," I whispered, tears instantly burning my eyes. "He tried to murder our daughter."
"No," Arthur corrected immediately, reaching out to gently clasp my trembling fingers. "Listen to me carefully, Khloe."
I looked at him, confused, searching his tired eyes for any sign of deception.
"Marcus didn't pay to cut your brakes," Arthur revealed, pulling a thick folder from his leather bag.
"Marcus discovered that someone had already ordered the hit on your life three weeks ago."
Arthur opened the folder, revealing bank statements, IP logs, and wire transfers stamped with red official seals.
"Marcus wired that twenty thousand dollars to buy the mechanic off, to replace the damaged parts before you drove."
"Then why didn't he tell me?" I demanded, my voice breaking. "Why keep it a secret?"
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"Because the person who paid the hitman wasn't Isabella," Arthur said, his voice dropping to a grim whisper.
"The money came from our mother's private trust fund."
