My body slammed against the floorboards with a sickening thud. Agony shot through my ankle, and the room spun.
I couldn't breathe. I simply lay there, staring at the plaster ceiling, trying to process the nightmare.
"Roosevelt!"
Footsteps thundered down the hall. 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."
Zyran frowned. He glanced up at Mina, then back down. 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 traumatized. And now you accuse her of violence? That's beneath you."
He stepped over me, abandoning me on the floorboards. He climbed the steps and extended a hand to Mina.
"Come down, Mina. It’s okay," he coaxed. His tone was gentle—the exact way he used to speak to me. "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 guest."
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.
A 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 agonizing, like a knot pulled tight. I slumped against the frame, cradling my belly.
"Zyran..." I whimpered. The room spun.
Footsteps rushed closer. Zyran bolted into the kitchen. The anger vanished from his features. Seeing me on the floor, his face drained of color. 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, fist clenching his shirt. "It hurts... so much."
I felt warm liquid between my thighs. I was hemorrhaging.
"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 disheveled 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 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 leaned in.
"Mrs. King, you're incredibly lucky," he whispered. "You suffered a threatened miscarriage. The hemorrhaging was triggered by physical trauma and severe stress."
My hands flew to cover my mouth. "But... the baby...?"
"The baby is holding on," he smiled reassuringly. "The heartbeat is strong, but you're in the danger zone. Absolutely no stress, zero shocks, and no heavy lifting. If you bleed again, we might not save the pregnancy."
I let out a choked sob. "Thank you. Oh, thank you."
"Does your husband know?" he probed.
I shook my head frantically. "No. Please, don’t tell him. Things are chaotic at home. I need to tell him when the timing is right. When things are stable."
He nodded. "Understood. Patient confidentiality applies, but you must rest."
The doctor exited. Seconds later, Zyran slipped back inside. He looked visibly relieved now that the doctor was gone.
"He said you just need rest," Zyran murmured, claiming the edge of my mattress. "He said you're exhausted and the fall triggered a shock."
He leaned forward, pressing a warm kiss to my forehead. "I'm so sorry, Roosevelt. I should've listened about the stairs. I was just overwhelmed with the Mina situation."
"Speaking of Mina," I rasped, pulling back. "Where is she?"
Zyran sighed heavily. "She's in the waiting room. She refused to leave."
"Zyran, who is she really?" I pressed. "You said she was an old friend, but..."
He stared at his hands. "We were close in college. Best friends. Then she met a guy. They were together for three years. I never heard from her. I assumed she was happy."
He met my gaze, his eyes pooling with pity. "She called tonight for the first time in years. She was screaming that her apartment was burning. She claimed she had nobody else."
"But why call you?" I challenged. "Why not the police?"
"Because of her ex," Zyran muttered darkly. "She left him a year ago, but..."
Suddenly, the hospital door banged open.
Mina burst inside. Still wearing that filthy slip dress, she looked unhinged, clutching a smartphone in her trembling hand.
"Zyran!" she shrieked.
Zyran bolted upright. "Mina? What is it?"
Mina threw herself at him, her manicured nails digging into his bicep. She shot me a look, then turned to Zyran. Her eyes were blown wide with frantic panic.
"He found me," she whimpered, her voice quaking. "My ex... he knows I’m here."
Zyran frowned. "How? The fire..."
"He sent a text," Mina choked out. She shoved the screen toward Zyran's face. "He said he saw you carry a woman out of the house. He thinks... he thinks I'm your wife."
Zyran went rigidly still. "What?"
Mina looked at me, a twisted fear masking her features.
"He thinks Roosevelt is me," Mina whispered. "And he says he's coming to the hospital to finish what he started in the fire.