My husband tied me to an iron doorframe while I was pregnant and hammered my foot as his mother watched, but his biggest mistake was posting the video where my sister could save it.

The door swung open.

Marcus stood in the doorway, chest heaving, his tailored designer suit wrinkled from his frantic drive. Behind him, two red-faced hospital security guards were half-heartedly gripping his arms, looking apologetic.

For a fraction of a second, his eyes locked onto mine—not with remorse, not with horror at the stark white orthopedic cast engulfing my leg, but with absolute, controlling fury.

"Get out," I said. My voice wasn't shaking anymore. It was cold, sharp like broken glass.

Marcus sneered, shrugging off the guards with a sharp yank of his shoulders. "Cut the dramatics, Chloe. You look ridiculous. Playing the victim in a hospital bed because you tripped over your own clumsy feet?" He took two aggressive strides toward the bed, ignoring the nurses who scrambled backward. "Get your clothes on. My mother is beside herself with worry, and our business associates are asking questions about why you're missing the charity gala tonight."

"Your mother watched you take a framing hammer to my foot," I said, my gaze locking onto his pupils. "While I was tied to the iron doorframe. And you posted it on WhatsApp for your cousins to laugh at."

Marcus froze. The arrogant color drained from his face for a split second, replaced by a flash of panic before his expression hardened back into aggressive denial.

"You're delusional," he hissed, glancing nervously at the nurses and security guards lingering by the entrance. "The pain medication is making you hallucinate. Maya has been filling your head with garbage because she's always envied our lifestyle."

"Is that why you texted Maya demanding she delete the video?" Maya stepped forward, holding her phone up like a shield, screen blazing with his desperate text message: Delete the video or you'll regret it.

Marcus lunged forward to swat the phone from her hand, but before he could touch her, the heavy click of a latch echoed behind him.

"Step away from the bed, Mr. Sterling."

Two police officers in crisp dark uniforms pushed past the security guards, their badges catching the fluorescent hospital lights. The lead officer, a weathered sergeant with sharp gray eyes, rested his hand casually near his utility belt.

"Officer, thank God," Marcus pivoted instantly, turning on a masterclass of smooth, manipulative charm. He spread his hands wide, playing the distressed, misunderstood husband. "My wife is suffering from severe prenatal psychosis. She fell at home, and her sister is manipulating her into filing false accusations to extort money from our family."

The sergeant didn't blink. He pulled a small tablet from his pocket and tapped the screen.

"We just received an encrypted file transfer from the precinct cyber-crimes division," the sergeant said evenly. "A thirteen-second high-definition video timestamped four hours ago. It shows a male matching your physical description using a 16-ounce claw hammer on a pregnant woman's foot, tied to a wrought-iron entrance."