My head began to spin and my whole body felt weak. I raised my shaky hand, bringing it to hover over my belly.
My baby. I hope it was fine.
Footsteps thundered down the hall and within seconds, Zyran loomed over me, his face ashen. For a split second, genuine panic flashed in his gaze.
"Are you alright?" He dropped to his knees, his hands hovering over my arms. "What happened? Did you slip?"
I gritted my teeth against the throbbing pain and looked past him. Mina stood at the landing. One hand covered her mouth, her eyes wide with feigned shock.
"She pushed me," I wheezed, clawing at his sleeve.
"Zyran, she pushed me," I mumbled with my lips trembling. I was scared—scared that my baby would get hurt because of this insane woman.
And I wish I could tell Zyran that she didn’t just try to hurt me, but also our child. But this wasn’t the right time to tell him about the child.
Zyran frowned. He glanced up at Mina, then back down. I expected him to yell at her like he normally does when he was angry with me, but instead his expression hardened from worry into pure irritation.
"Roosevelt, don't be ridiculous," he snapped in a grave tone.
"Mina can barely stand. How could she push you?"
"I'm telling the truth!" I cried, struggling to sit up. A wave of intense nausea hit me, and my thoughts snapped to the baby. My hand flew to my stomach.
"She looked me in the eye and shoved me."
"I didn't!" Mina wailed from above.
She burst into theatrical tears, her shoulders quaking. "I tried to catch her! She tripped on her hem. Oh god, Zyran, she hates me!"
Zyran dropped my arm and stood. He didn't help me up. Instead, he stared at me with utter disappointment.
"Look what you've done," he chided. "You've upset her."
"I upset her?" I choked out, my voice breaking. "Zyran. I'm the one on the floor. I'm the one injured!"
"You're resilient, Roosevelt. You always have been," he countered, dismissing my agony with a flick of his wrist.
"Mina just lost her home. She's traumatised. And now you accuse her of violence? That's beneath you.” He stepped over me, abandoning me on the floorboards and a tear fell from my eyes.
He climbed the steps and extended a hand to Mina.
"Come down, Mina. It's okay," he coaxed. His tone was gentle.
"She didn't mean it. She's just exhausted." Mina descended the stairs, playing the terrified victim. She took his hand and cowered behind his muscular arm, peeking at me.
When Zyran turned to check the deadbolt, Mina met my gaze. The tears vanished. Instead, she flashed that same wicked smirk she wore right before she shoved me.
She had won. She knew exactly how to play him.
"Zyran," I grunted, forcing myself upright. My ankle throbbed, but I pushed through the blinding pain. "My ankle is swollen and I feel faint. I need a hospital."
I had to check on the baby. I needed to know if the impact had hurt my child.
Zyran checked his Rolex and sighed. "It's late, Roosevelt. It's probably a minor sprain. We have ice in the freezer."
"But—"
"Mina is trembling," he interrupted, his voice inflexible.
"I need to get her settled upstairs before she goes into shock. Can you please ice your ankle and stop making a scene? We'll discuss your clumsiness tomorrow."
My jaw dropped. "My clumsiness? Zyran. I am your wife!"
"Then act like one," he barked. "Be gracious. Be kind to our guests."
He wrapped his arm around her waist to support her. "Let's go, Mina. You need rest."
I watched them walk away. I watched my husband comfort the viper who just tried to kill me, while I stood in agony on our anniversary.
Another tear slid down my cheek, but I wiped it away fiercely. I refused to cry. Not in front of her.
I limped toward the kitchen for ice, feeling utterly isolated. But as I reached the doorway, a brutal cramp ripped through my pelvis. This pain was different. It felt deep. Terrifying.
I gripped the doorframe, gasping for air.
"Zyran!" I cried, my voice laced with sudden panic.
"I said enough, Roosevelt!" he roared from the living room, not bothering to look. Another cramp hit, harder this time. I looked down at my silk dress.
Blooming on the pristine fabric like a morbid flower, was a spreading spot of blood. The pain was agonising, like a knot pulled tight. I slumped against the frame, cradling my belly. "Zyran..." I whimpered, then my body hit the marble floor.
Zyran bolted into the kitchen. The anger vanished from his features. Seeing me on the floor, his face drained of colour. His eyes widened with absolute terror.
"Roosevelt!"
He dropped to his knees, skidding across the tiles. He gathered me into his arms, his trembling hands cupping my face.
"Roosevelt, look at me! What is it? Where does it hurt?" His voice was frantic. He wasn't the aloof CEO anymore; he was just a terrified husband.
"My stomach," I gasped, my fist clenching his shirt. "It hurts... so much."
I felt warm liquid between my thighs. I was haemorrhaging.
"No, no, no," I sobbed, burying my face in his chest. "Please, not this."
Zyran didn't waste time with questions. He scooped me up effortlessly, crushing me against his chest. "I've got you," he fiercely whispered into my hair. "Stay with me."
He sprinted toward the foyer. As we passed the living room, Mina stood there, utterly shocked to see Zyran carrying me.
"Zyran?" she called. "Where are you going?"
"Get in the car, Mina!" he bellowed without slowing down. "We're going to the ER. Now!"
Everything blurred into a rush of streetlights. My last memory was Zyran's hand crushing mine, his voice cracking as he whispered, "Don't leave me, Roosevelt. Please don't leave me."
Beep... Beep... Beep...
I woke up to the sterile scent of bleach and medicine. The room was deathly quiet.
I blinked my heavy eyes open. I was in a hospital bed. My hand felt warm. I glanced down and spotted Zyran. He sat in a visitor's chair, his head resting near my hip. He was asleep, but both his hands gripped mine like a vice.
I shifted slightly, and he jolted awake. He sat up, his hair dishevelled and his eyes bloodshot, proving he hadn't slept a wink.
"You're awake," he exhaled. The raw relief in his voice struck a chord. He reached out, his thumb caressing my cheek.
"You scared me to death, Roosevelt. I thought the worst."
"Zyran," I croaked, my throat like sandpaper. "The doctor... what did he say?"
Before Zyran could answer, the door was pushed open. An older doctor strolled in, checking his clipboard.
"Ah, Mrs King. Good to see you awake," the doctor greeted gently.
Zyran shot to his feet. "Doctor, she was in agony. Is it her appendix? The fall?"
The doctor glanced between us, clearly sensing the tension. He walked to the opposite side of the bed, creating distance from Zyran, and lowered his voice.
"Mr King, could you give us a moment? I need to check her vitals," the doctor requested smoothly. Zyran hesitated, planting his feet. "I want to know what's wrong with my wife." "I'll update you shortly," the doctor insisted.
Reluctantly, Zyran squeezed my hand. "I'll be right outside," he promised. He stepped out, casting a lingering glance over his shoulder before clicking the door shut.
As soon as the latch clicked, the doctor looked at me with his face turning pale and my heart skipped a beat.
What was wrong?
No…no…no…
Was my child gone?