Chapter 10: The Unlocked Door on the Twentieth Floor
The twentieth-floor corridor was bathed in the soft, amber glow of the emergency backup lighting, casting long, still shadows across the plush carpeting.
Inside the private maternity suite, the air was quiet, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the medical monitoring equipment tracking Khloe’s vital signs.
Khloe sat upright in the velvet armchair, her hands resting protectively over her swollen stomach, her eyes fixed on the door as she waited for Marcus to return from downstairs.
Elaine Parker sat nervously on the edge of the sofa nearby, wringing her hands together in a silent panic.
"Mrs. Thorne, do you think... do you think Mr. Thorne is safe down there?" Elaine asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Arthur Vance and his associates are extremely powerful people."
"Marcus knows how to handle men like Arthur," Khloe replied, her voice steady, though a faint knot of anxiety tightened in her chest. "They built their empires on intimidation. Marcus built his on absolute control."
A soft, metallic click echoed from the doorway.
Both women froze.
"Marcus?" Khloe called out, her eyes locking onto the heavy oak door as it slowly began to swing inward on its hinges.
The door drifted open, revealing an empty hallway bathed in amber light.
No one was standing there.
"That's strange," Elaine whispered, standing up slowly and walking toward the threshold. "I thought I locked that deadbolt myself after Mr. Thorne left."
She stepped out into the hallway, looking left and right down the silent corridor.
"Hello? Is someone there?" Elaine called out nervously.
A cold draft swept through the open doorway, carrying a faint, familiar scent of expensive perfume—a scent that made Khloe’s blood run instantly cold.
"Elaine," Khloe said sharply, pushing herself up from the armchair with a sudden surge of adrenaline. "Step away from the door right now."
Before Elaine could turn around, a gloved hand shot out from the shadow of the adjacent service alcove, clamping tightly over her mouth.
Elaine let out a muffled gasp, her eyes widening in sheer terror as she was yanked backward out of sight into the dark corridor.
"Elaine!" Khloe cried out, rushing toward the doorway despite the sharp ache in her side.
She reached the threshold just in time to see Elaine’s form slump unconscious against the wall, lowered gently to the carpet by a tall, cloaked figure holding a heavy medical sedative injector.
Standing over Elaine’s fallen body, stepping slowly out of the shadows and into the amber light of the doorway, was a woman wearing a dark velvet trench coat.
Her face was partially hidden beneath the deep brim of a wide-hat, but the cold, calculating smile playing across her lips was unmistakable.
It wasn't Isabella.
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It was Elena Vance—Arthur’s estranged wife, and the actual financial architect behind the entire corporate conspiracy.
"You really thought Isabella was the mastermind, didn't you, Khloe?" Elena whispered, stepping across the threshold into the suite with unhurried grace. "Such a disappointment. Family always cleans up the mess when amateurs fail."
