Chapter 7 - THE PRENATAL SCARE
The rain outside the penthouse windows had turned into a torrential downpour, streaking the glass in violent, distorted rivers.
I was sitting on the edge of the oversized sofa in the nursery, holding a tiny, cream-colored cashmere blanket I had spent weeks washing and folding. The room was finished. The crib of hand-carved Swedish oak stood against the wall; the soft amber nightlights were plugged in; the mobile of silver stars drifted gently in the draft of the climate control.
Everything was ready. But my body was not.
A sudden, white-hot spasm gripped my lower abdomen, radiating around into my spine with the force of a sledgehammer. I gasped, dropping the blanket onto the hardwood floor, my fingers digging into the velvet upholstery.
The pain didn't fade after thirty seconds like the mild Braxton Hicks contractions I had experienced the previous week. It tightened, wrapping around my pelvic bone like a steel band, squeezing the air from my lungs until my vision blurred at the edges.
"Marcus..." I tried to call out, but my voice was barely a strained whimper.
I reached for the small emergency pendant resting on the side table—a direct line to the security detail stationed in the foyer. My trembling fingers knocked it to the floor. It skittered across the polished wood, stopping two feet out of reach.
Another wave hit me, more violent than the first. A sharp, tearing pressure made me double over, my forehead pressing against my knees. I could feel cold sweat breaking out across my neck and chest.
*Not now,* I prayed frantically, clutching my swollen belly. *Please, God, not now. She’s only thirty-four weeks. It’s too early.*
Gritting my teeth, I lowered myself onto the floor, ignoring the burning agony in my joints. I dragged myself forward on my hands and knees, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps, until my fingers finally closed around the plastic pendant.
I slammed the red button.
Within five seconds, the nursery door flew open. Marcus Vance burst into the room, his weapon drawn, followed immediately by Dr. Chen, the private obstetrician Marcus had retained on twenty-four-hour standby.
"Evelyn!" Dr. Chen dropped to her knees beside me, instantly pressing two fingers to the pulse point on my neck while her other hand went to my abdomen. "Marcus, help me get her onto her back. Carefully!"
Marcus holstered his firearm, his face pale with rare, unmasked panic. Between the two of them, they lifted me onto the daybed. Dr. Chen pulled up my sweater, pressing a portable ultrasound transducer against my skin. The sharp, cold gel sent a shiver through my entire body.
The monitor flickered to life. The rhythmic *thump-thump-thump* of Clara’s heartbeat filled the room, but it was erratic, beating far too fast.
"Preterm labor," Dr. Chen said, her voice tight with urgency as she pulled her stethoscope from her ears. "The maternal cortisol levels from the last twenty-four hours have triggered aggressive uterine contractions. Her cervix is effacing. We cannot manage this in the penthouse. We need to move her to the university medical center immediately."
"The media is camped outside the main gate," Marcus said, pulling his radio from his belt. "Ethan’s PR team leaked the arrest story to the national tabloids. There are twenty news vans at the curb."
"I don't give a damn about the media, Marcus!" Dr. Chen snapped, pulling an emergency syringe of terbutaline from her medical bag to slow the contractions. "If we don't get her to the neonatal ICU within thirty minutes, she could suffer a placental abruption. Move her now!"
Marcus spoke into his radio, his voice snapping with military precision. "Alpha Team, secure the subterranean exit. Deploy diversion vehicles to the front gates. We have a medical emergency. Repeat, code red. Move!"
The injection burned like fire as Dr. Chen plunged the needle into my thigh, but the blinding pain in my abdomen barely receded. As Marcus and two tactical medics lifted the transport gurney, my vision swam with dark spots.
"My baby..." I whispered, clutching Marcus’s sleeve with whatever strength I had left. "Marcus... don't let Ethan... don't let him near her..."
"No one is touching your daughter, Evelyn," Marcus vowed, his eyes hard as flint as the elevator doors closed. "I swear it on my life."
May you like
As the ambulance sped out of the underground garage, sirens screaming into the stormy night, Ethan Caldwell was sitting in his defense attorney’s high-rise office three miles away, reviewing the tabloid headlines with a triumphant smirk. He had no idea his daughter was fighting for her first breath—or that his own fate was about to be sealed.
---
