If you ever touch Selina again, I swear to God I will kill you.”

The mechanical voice of the emergency dispatcher cut through the suffocating stillness of the penthouse: *“Emergency services have been dispatched to your GPS location. Please remain on the line.”*

Selina lunged forward, her diamond tennis bracelet catching the dim chandelier light. Her manicured fingers clawed at my wrist, trying desperately to pry the smartwatch loose. “Smash it, Julian! Smash it right now!” she hissed, her voice completely stripped of the helpless, fragile lilt she had used only moments before.

Julian stood frozen, staring at his trembling hands. The small silver fruit knife slipped from his fingers, clattering against the marble floor with a sharp, hollow echo. Fresh blood—my blood—stained the ivory handle and pooled on the cream Persian rug beneath me. “What have I done?” he muttered, his pupils dilated to pinpricks. “Nora… oh God, Nora…”

“Get a grip!” Selina snarled, giving him a hard shove that knocked him off balance. “If she talks, your life is over! The firm, your family’s trust fund, your freedom—everything is gone! Tell them an intruder broke in! Tell them you found her like this!”

Every breath I took felt like inhaling ground glass. The blades of pain carving through my lower abdomen were unlike anything I had ever known, but beneath the agony, an animal instinct took over. My hand twitched beneath my side, curling protectively over my stomach where my unborn child lay hidden. *Hold on,* I pleaded silently into the dark void threatening to swallow me. *Please, God, just let my baby survive.*

Sirens screamed in the street below, echoing off the glass towers of downtown Boston. Julian stumbled back toward the terrace doors, clutching his hair. “They’re already downstairs. The doorman has a master key. Selina, she’s bleeding out. Look at her!”

Selina didn't look at me with remorse; she looked at me like an unfinished chore. She grabbed a throw pillow from our sofa, her eyes burning with pure malice as she stepped toward my face. “Then we make sure she can’t tell them who held the knife.”

“No!” Julian shouted, lunging forward and catching her arm before the velvet could smother my mouth. “Are you insane? There will be forensics! Fibers!”

“She’s recording us, you coward!” Selina shrieked, struggling against his grip.

Before either of them could move again, the heavy oak double doors of our penthouse burst open.

“Boston Police! Nobody move!”

Three armed officers flooded the foyer, guns drawn, followed closely by two paramedics wheeling a bright orange trauma kit. The sudden invasion of light and authoritative shouts shattered the room’s grim silence.

“Drop to your knees! Both of you, hands where we can see them!” an officer bellowed.

Julian obeyed instantly, dropping like a marionette with severed strings, his face pale and slick with cold sweat. “Help her! Please, she’s my wife—someone broke in—she was attacked!”

Selina dropped beside him, tears instantly flowing down her cheeks in an Oscar-worthy performance. “He tried to save her! A man ran down the fire escape! Please help her!”

The paramedics didn’t care about their words. Within seconds, a female paramedic with fierce, focused eyes dropped to her knees beside me. Her gloved hands pressed thick gauze against my abdomen, applying brutal, necessary pressure.

“Female, late twenties, multiple stab wounds to the lower quadrant, profound hemorrhagic shock!” she yelled to her partner. “Blood pressure is seventy over forty and dropping! We need a central line and a trauma bay at Mass General on standby right now!”

I tried to speak, but only a wet gasp escaped my lips. I couldn't move my neck, but my fingers scraped against the floor, tapping weakly against the paramedic’s boot.

The paramedic leaned down close. “Stay with me, honey. Keep your eyes on me. What’s your name?”

“Baby…” I managed to whisper, the word barely a breath against the cold floor. “I’m… pregnant… save my baby…”

The paramedic’s eyes widened slightly beneath her visor. She looked up at her partner with heightened urgency. “Call it in! Suspected early gestational trauma! Code Red! We are moving *now*!”

As they hoisted me onto the gurney, the world tilted sideways. I saw Julian kneeling by the sofa, his eyes locked onto mine. For a fraction of a second, I saw raw terror and shame in his gaze—not for my life, but for what my survival would mean for him. Beside him, Selina was watching my wrist.

My smartwatch was still fastened tightly to my arm. The green recording indicator had gone dark, but the memory was locked. The file had already auto-synced to my private cloud storage the moment the device reconnected to our home Wi-Fi.