Chapter 5 - The King’s CalculationSuddenly, the heavy oak door of the suite swung open.
Marcus stood there in his impeccably tailored tuxedo, looking as if he had just stepped off a magazine cover. Behind him, looking pale and confused, was Elaine Parker, the lead gala coordinator. For one impossible, agonizing second, the room held perfectly still. It was a grotesque tableau: me, crumpled on the floor in a sea of white silk maternity fabric; Isabella, towering over me in violent red; the broken glass; and Marcus.
“She attacked me,” Isabella lied instantly. Her voice was breathless, panicked, but her eyes remained cold. “Marcus, I came up to check on her, and she became completely hysterical. She slipped.”
I looked up at my husband through a blur of pain and tears. I waited for the outrage. I waited for the man who had promised to protect me to tear the room apart, to throw her out, to fall to his knees beside me.
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Instead, Marcus’s jaw tightened with cold, hard calculation. He didn’t rush to my side. He didn’t even look at my stomach. He looked at the door.
“Elaine, close the door,” he said, his voice completely level—the tone he used for hostile takeovers. “No one needs to see this.”
