Chapter 2 - THE DESCENT INTO BRUTALITY
The attack was sudden, violent, and utterly calculated. Isabella’s hands slammed into Khloe’s shoulders with shocking, unnatural force. Taken entirely by surprise, Khloe stumbled backward, her breath catching in her throat as a terrified gasp escaped her lips.
Her back slammed hard against the cold marble edge of the mahogany side table. A sharp, searing wave of white-hot pain rushed through her lower back and abdomen. For a terrifying second, the world went completely black, and Khloe could only fight to draw a single breath into her lungs.
Her first and only instinct was immediate: her right hand flew downward, locking protectively over her stomach to shield her unborn child from the impact.
Across the room, Isabella stood completely still, looking down at Khloe’s struggling form with an expression of cold satisfaction. But the malice in her eyes hadn't faded; it had only grown hungrier.
"Let's see how long Marcus stays with a broken, pathetic wife," Isabella whispered, her voice venomous.
Khloe tried to push herself up from the edge of the table. Her legs trembled violently, weakened by months of pregnancy strain and the brutal shock of the blow. She reached out, trying to grab the edge of the polished surface to steady herself, but her fingers slipped.
On the corner of the table, a crystal champagne glass teetered precariously.
With a metallic clatter, the glass fell. It hit the hard marble floor and shattered into a thousand glittering pieces, the sharp sound cutting through the quiet suite like an alarm bell echoing in the night.
Khloe tried to hold on, desperate to stay on her feet, but her body was rapidly losing the fight against the pain radiating through her core.
Isabella watched her struggle with detachment, and instead of stepping away or showing a shred of human remorse, she closed the remaining distance. The last remnants of her polite society facade vanished entirely. What remained was pure, unbridled cruelty.
Without a word of warning, Isabella raised her foot. Her stiletto heel struck Khloe directly in the side.
The force of the kick was devastating. It swept out what little stability Khloe had left, sending the pregnant woman collapsing heavily onto the floor, right among the shards of broken crystal.
Pain exploded through Khloe’s body like a detonated charge. Her breath vanished completely, replaced by a suffocating tightness in her chest. For several terrifying seconds, she couldn't even cry out. The agony was blinding, white-hot, and all-consuming.
Yet, even as her vision blurred at the edges and darkness nipped at her consciousness, Khloe didn't think about revenge. She didn't think about calling the police, and she didn't even think about Isabella standing above her.
Her entire universe shrank down to a single focal point: her baby.
With tears streaming down her pale face, Khloe curled her body inward, her arms wrapping tightly, desperately around her stomach as if she could physically shield her child from the cruel world outside.
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"Please..." Khloe sobbed softly into the floor. "Please... keep my baby safe..."
And then, right as the darkness threatened to pull her under, the heavy oak door of the private suite flew open with a loud bang that rattled the doorframe.
