Chapter 4: Before He Walked In
The attending physician came.
She checked the baby's heartbeat, pressed her fingers carefully along my abdomen, asked me to rate my pain on a scale of one to ten.
I said three.
It was closer to six.
"The baby's heart rate is strong," she said.
"But I want to keep you for observation.
At least four hours.
No negotiation."
"Fine," I said.
Marcus was still on the phone in the corner, his voice low and controlled, the way it got when he was furious but needed something from someone.
I'd heard that voice directed at contractors, at lawyers, at his own father once.
Never at me.
The doctor left.
The nurse finished her checks and pulled the curtain halfway around the bed, giving us a thin slice of privacy.
Marcus ended the call and came back to the chair beside me.
"The administrator is pulling the security footage.
It goes through their legal team first, but I told them we'd have our own attorney involved within the hour if there was any delay." He sat down.
"Now tell me what happened before I came in."
I looked at my hands on the blanket.
"Khloe."
"I called someone," I said.
"Before Isabella arrived.
I didn't know she was coming — she just appeared.
But before that, I made a call."
"Who?"
"Your mother."
The silence that followed was not empty.
It had weight.
"Why," Marcus said slowly, "did you call my mother?"
"Because I found something." I reached for my bag on the bedside table.
My hands weren't steady.
I unzipped the inner pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper — a printout, creased from being carried too long.
"Three days ago.
I wasn't snooping.
I was looking for the insurance documents in your home office and I found this underneath them."
I held it out.
He took it.
Unfolded it.
Read it.
His face didn't move.
That was the thing about Marcus — when something hit him hard enough, his face went completely still.
Like a lake before a storm, when the wind stops and the surface turns to glass.
"This is a property transfer," he said.
"Yes."
"For the house."
"Our house.
Yes."
"Signed six months ago." He looked up.
"In Isabella's name."
"Partially.
It's a joint transfer.
Contingent on—" I stopped.
I couldn't say it out loud without my voice doing something I didn't want it to do.
"Read the contingency clause."
He looked back down.
His jaw shifted.
"Contingent on the dissolution of your current marriage," he read aloud.
His voice was flat.
Careful.
Like he was reading a document in a language he was still translating.
"Within twelve months of the date of signing."
He set the paper on his knee.
"She's been planning this for six months," I said.
"And someone helped her.
Someone who had access to your property documents.
Someone who knew the layout of your estate well enough to—"
"My mother," he said.
Not a question.
"That's why I called her.
I wanted to hear her voice when I asked her.
I wanted to know if she already knew."
"And?"
I looked at him.
"She hung up before I finished the sentence."
Marcus stood up.
He walked to the window.
He stood there with his back to me, one hand braced against the glass.
Outside, the city moved the way it always did — indifferent, continuous, unbothered by what was happening in this room.
"She was in on it," he said.
"I think so."
"And Isabella came here today because—"
"Because your mother called her.
After I hung up." I kept my voice even.
"Isabella was here within twenty minutes of that call, Marcus.
I checked the time."
He turned around.
His face was no longer still.
"She came here to make sure I couldn't show you that document," I said.
"She didn't expect you to walk in."
Marcus picked the paper up from his knee.
He looked at it for a long moment.
Then he folded it carefully and put it in his own jacket pocket.
"I need to make another call," he said.
His phone was already in his hand when it rang first.
He looked at the screen.
His mother's name.
He let it ring four times.
Then he answered, and said nothing.
Just waited.
Her voice came through — I could hear the shape of it but not the words, high and fast and insistent.
Marcus listened for exactly eleven seconds.
"I know about the transfer," he said.
"Don't call this number again."
He ended the call and looked at me.
May you like
"We're not waiting for the hospital's legal team," he said.
"I'm getting that footage tonight."
