Chapter 8 - THE WHITE CORRIDORS
The ride to St. Jude’s Medical Center was a blur of flashing lights and terrifying urgency.
Inside the ambulance, Chloe gripped Marcus’s hand with astonishing strength. Her face was contorted in agony, her breath coming in short, jagged gasps. The fall had triggered premature contractions.
"Marcus," she cried out, her hazel eyes wide with panic. "I can't lose her. Please, don't let me lose her."
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"You are not losing anyone tonight, Chloe," Marcus vowed, his large hand enveloping hers.
He was the most powerful man in Chicago's financial district, yet in the back of that speeding ambulance, he felt entirely powerless. All his billions could not stop his wife's pain. All he could do was hold her, transferring every ounce of his strength into her trembling body.
