She Thought Kicking A Pregnant Wife In A Hospital Would End The Marriage Until The Billionaire Husband Learned The Director Was His Wife’s Uncle, Security Footage Exposed The Affair, And One Violent Night Destroyed Lies They Thought They Controlled Forever - Royals

Chapter 3: The Price of Vanity

An hour later, the quiet of the restricted VIP waiting room was thick and suffocating. Marcus Thorne sat on the edge of a leather sofa, his head buried in his hands. His immaculate tuxedo now felt like a straightjacket. For the first time in his life, his money couldn't buy immediate answers, and his status couldn't open doors.

The heavy wooden door clicked open. Marcus snapped his head up instantly.

Dr. Robert Hayes walked in. He had removed his blood-stained lab coat, now standing in his dark surgical scrubs. His face was an unreadable mask of exhaustion and cold fury.

Marcus stood up so fast he knocked his knee against the coffee table. “Is the baby…? Is Khloe…?” He couldn't even force the rest of the words out of his throat.

“The baby is alive,” Robert said flatly, his voice cutting through the tense air. “There is no placental abruption, thank God. But she suffered heavy abdominal trauma. The assault triggered a severe stress response and premature contractions. We’ve managed to stabilize the contractions with medication, but she is on strict, absolute bed rest. Khloe is stable too. No thanks to you.”

Marcus let out a long, ragged exhale, the tension leaving his shoulders so abruptly he almost sank back into the couch. “Thank God. Can I see her? Robert, please, I need to explain. I need to tell her I didn't mean to—”

“No,” Robert said, stepping forward to block Marcus’s path before he could even move toward the door. “You will not see her. She remembers exactly what you did, Marcus. When she was bleeding on the floor, you didn't look at her as a husband looks at his pregnant wife. You looked at your mistress and asked how to contain the narrative. You fed Isabella’s vanity for months until she felt entitled to walk into my hospital and try to murder your son. Remember that before you speak to me again.”

Before Marcus could offer another desperate defense, the door opened a second time. David Chen walked into the room, his military-grade laptop open in one hand, a freshly printed manila folder in the other. He tossed the folder directly onto the table in front of Marcus.

“You might want to read your mistress’s recent correspondence, Mr. Thorne,” David said, leaning casually against the doorframe, though his eyes were sharp. “It turns out her taste in men isn't based on your charming personality.”

Marcus frowned, picking up the file. As he flipped through the printed pages, his stomach violently turned.

The documents were unencrypted logs from Isabella’s phone, detailing offshore bank transfers, shell corporations, and encrypted messages. For the last six months, Isabella had been systematically downloading proprietary data from Marcus’s personal laptop while he slept. She had leaked the exact financial blueprints of Thorne Industries' upcoming multi-billion-dollar tech acquisition to their fiercest rival, Vanguard Holdings.

Marcus’s eyes stopped on a specific chat log from just three days ago.

Isabella: “Marcus is easy. He is so desperate for blind worship and an ego stroke that he hands me the keys to his kingdom just to feel powerful. The acquisition will fail, Vanguard will swoop in, and he’ll never suspect a thing.”

Marcus dropped the papers onto the table, his face entirely bloodless. His voice cracked into a hollow whisper. “She used me. The entire affair… it was never about me. It was just for corporate access.”