Chapter 2: The Lockdown of St. Jude’s
Chapter 2: The Lockdown of St. Jude’s
Within seconds, the heavy silence of the VIP suite was shattered by the rhythmic, urgent thud of running boots. Medical staff flooded the room, pushing a stainless-steel gurney. Nurses in blue scrubs moved like a synchronized machine under Dr. Robert Hayes’s sharp, unyielding commands.
“Watch her spine! Support her lower back!” Robert barked, his hands never leaving Khloe’s shoulder as she was carefully lifted.
Khloe cried out, her fingers locking onto the cold metal railing of the gurney. Another contraction, sharp and unforgiving, tore through her abdomen. The white silk of her dress was now deeply stained with a terrifying crimson bloom.
“Look at me, Khloe. Just look at me,” Robert ordered softly, leaning over her, his fierce eyes anchoring her through the panic. “Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Your baby’s heartbeat is our only priority right now. Focus on me.”
As the team began wheeling the gurney toward the door, Marcus stepped forward, his face pale but his instincts still buried in a desperate need for control. He reached out to grab the edge of the gurney. “I’m coming with her. She’s my wife.”
Robert stopped him dead in his tracks. The older doctor didn't raise his voice, but he placed a single, heavy hand against Marcus’s chest, pushing him back with the force of an iron wall.
“You will wait exactly where security places you,” Robert said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating whisper.
“Robert, be reasonable,” Marcus hissed, his eyes darting to the nurses who were completely ignoring him. “I am the primary donor of this entire pediatric wing! My name is on the front of this building. You cannot bar me from my wife’s medical room.”
“You lost the right to stand beside her the exact second you chose image control over her agonizing pain,” Robert replied flatly. He looked past Marcus to the two burly, uniformed hospital guards standing at the door. “Keep Mr. Thorne in the restricted family room. If he attempts to leave or access the obstetrics floor, cite him for trespassing and call the precinct.”
“Hayes!” Marcus shouted, but the elevator doors slid shut, cutting off his voice.
Downstairs in the grand ballroom, the bass from the orchestra vibrated through the floorboards. Hundreds of wealthy donors kept drinking champagne and applauding, completely unaware that the billionaire CEO of Thorne Industries was now effectively a prisoner of his own medical center.
Meanwhile, back in the VIP suite, Isabella Rossi was not going quietly.
She paced the perimeter of the room like a caged panther, her heels clicking violently against the hardwood, avoiding the shattered glass of the champagne bottle. Two security guards stood by the door, blocking her exit.
“Do you have any idea who I am?” Isabella shrieked, her perfect composure finally cracking into ugly desperation. “I am a senior consultant for Rossi Global! Marcus will have your badges for this! Get out of my way, I need to call my legal team!”
The suite door opened, but it wasn't Marcus who walked in.
It was David Chen. The cybersecurity expert wore a sharp, casual jacket over a dark shirt, carrying a ruggedized military-grade laptop case. He didn't look like a security guard; he looked like a ghost in the digital machine. Behind him, Dr. Hayes’s executive assistant handed him a sealed plastic evidence bag containing Isabella’s confiscated iPhone and tablet.
David sat down at the mahogany side table, completely ignoring Isabella’s furious glare. He pulled a thick data-extraction cable from his case and plugged it into her phone.
“Hey! Touch that device and I’ll sue you into poverty!” Isabella lunged forward, but a guard instantly grabbed her arm, forcing her back.
David didn't even look up from his screen as strings of code began to rapidly cascade down the display. He let out a soft, mocking hum.
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“Miss Rossi,” David said, his voice casual yet chilling. “If I were you, I would worry significantly less about an assault charge. And I would start worrying much, much more about the encrypted treason buried in your root folders.”
Isabella went completely still, the color draining from her face faster than the blood from Khloe’s dress.
