He Caught His Mistress Stepping On His Pregnant Wife’s Belly—Then He Looked Up At The Blinking Red Light!

The heavy double doors of Suite 402 burst open again, this time admitting a flood of medical staff.

“Out of the way! Let the trauma team through!” yelled Dr. Charles, the hospital’s head OB-GYN, flanked by four nurses and two burly armed guards.

Marcus was immediately shoved backward by the frantic medical personnel. “Her vitals are crashing!” a nurse shouted, pressing a Doppler probe against my bare stomach. The machine whined with static, the previous steady gallop of my baby’s heart now sounding erratic, slow, like a fading drumbeat in the distance.

“Bradycardia! Fetal distress!” Dr. Charles barked. “Prepare 100 milligrams of magnesium sulfate and get her to OR 3 immediately! We might have to cut her open right now!”

“No, wait!” I gasped, my voice a broken croak. I reached out, my bloodied fingers catching Marcus’s shirt sleeve. “Marcus… the… the camera…”

Marcus looked down at me, his eyes bloodshot, tears of sheer terror carving tracks down his cheeks. “Khloe, don’t talk. Save your strength. I’m right here.”

“No… look!” I managed to lift one trembling finger, pointing up at the ceiling fixture.

Marcus turned his head. His gaze followed my trembling hand. For the first time, his eyes registered the tiny black pinhole and the pulsating red light.

At that exact moment, Isabella made her move.

Capitalizing on the chaos of the crash cart, the shouting nurses, and the gurney being wheeled into the room, she slipped toward the open threshold. Her expensive heels were silent as she stepped over the shattered hydrangeas. Her hand went straight to her pocket, pulling out a slim, gold-plated encrypted smartphone.

Marcus’s head snapped toward the door. He saw her shadow crossing the threshold into the corridor.

“GUARDS!” Marcus’s voice exploded with the force of thunder. “SEAL THE CORRIDOR! DO NOT LET THAT WOMAN LEAVE THIS FLOOR!”

The two armed hospital security guards at the door turned instantly, but Isabella was already sprinting. She kicked off her high heels, abandoning them on the polished linoleum, running barefoot with desperate, feral speed toward the administrative wing where the hospital’s central server room was located.

“Marcus!” Dr. Charles shouted, pushing him back. “We have to take your wife to surgery NOW! Her uterine wall is showing signs of premature separation! If you don't let us move her, they both die!”

Marcus stood frozen for one agonized fraction of a second, torn between the impulse to hunt down his stepsister with his bare hands and the desperate need to stay by my side.

I looked into his eyes, squeezing his hand with the last shred of consciousness I had left. “Get the drive, Marcus,” I whispered, blood trickling from my lip. “Don’t let her… erase it. Save our baby.”

Marcus leaned down, kissed my sweaty forehead fiercely, and looked at Dr. Charles. “Save them. If anything happens to either of them, I will burn this city to the ground.”