Part 2: My Husband's Mistress Threw Boiling Oil on My Back While I Was Eight Months Pregnant. "He Told Me You'd Be Home Alone," She Screamed Before Running Away. I Shielded My Unborn Daughter and Was Rushed to the ER. But When the Doctor Saw My Face, He Froze. He Recognized Me as the Heiress of the Hospital Empire I'd Abandoned Five Years Earlier—and Immediately Called Someone…

At 8:30 PM, the heavy mahogany double doors of the Whitmore VIP Surgical Wing swung open.

Daniel Reeves practically threw himself into the corridor.

He was breathing heavily, his tie loosened, his hair artfully disheveled in a display of frantic, breathless panic. He held a crumpled jacket under his arm, and his eyes were red-rimmed—a performance worthy of an Academy Award.

"Where is she?!" Daniel shouted at the nurses' station, his voice cracking with theatrical anguish. "Where is my wife? Sarah! Sarah Reeves! I just got the voicemail from the police—oh God, please tell me she's alive!"

The head nurse didn't flinch. She simply tapped a button under the desk.

Two massive security guards stepped into the hallway, blocking Daniel’s path.

"Sir, you need to lower your voice," one guard said, his voice a low rumble.

"Do you know who I am?!" Daniel snapped, puffing out his chest, the entitlement oozing through his manufactured despair. "That is my pregnant wife in there! I have every legal right to see her! If you touch me, I will sue this miserable county hospital for every dime it has!"

"This isn't a county hospital, Daniel," a calm, terrifying voice echoed down the hall.

Daniel froze.

From the shadows of the executive suite, Eleanor Whitmore walked out, the steady click of her heels against the polished terrazzo floor sounding like the cocking of a rifle. Beside her walked Dr. Hayes and two uniformed Philadelphia police detectives.

Daniel blinked, his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish.

For five years, Eleanor Whitmore had refused to be in the same zip code as him. He had convinced himself that Sarah was truly an outcast, that the Whitmore empire had slammed its golden gates shut forever. He had treated Sarah like a woman with no family, no backing, and no power.

"Eleanor...?" Daniel stammered, quickly attempting to readjust his expression to one of humble, grieving son-in-law. "Oh, thank God you're here. Eleanor, it's terrible... some lunatic attacked Sarah at home! I was stuck in traffic coming back from a client meeting—my phone died—I rushed here as soon as I heard—"

"Save your breath, Daniel," Eleanor said, stopping five feet from him. Her expression was one of profound disgust, as if she were looking at a cockroach crawling across her dining table. "You look ridiculous."

Daniel’s face flushed crimson. "I am Sarah’s husband! Where is she? How is the baby? I need to see my daughter!"

"You will not be seeing anyone," Dr. Hayes said coldly. "As Chief of Medicine, I have revoked your visitation rights pending an ongoing criminal investigation."

"Criminal investigation?!" Daniel took a step back, his eyes darting toward the two detectives standing silently behind Eleanor. "What are you talking about? Sarah was attacked by a psycho! I am the victim here! My family is the victim!"

"Is that why your car was caught on traffic cameras parked two blocks from Chloe Vance’s apartment at 1:45 PM?" Detective Miller asked, stepping forward with his hands resting casually on his utility belt. "Fifteen minutes before the 911 call was made from your neighborhood?"

Daniel went as pale as a bedsheet. The sweat on his forehead suddenly wasn't from running; it was pure, unadulterated terror.

"Chloe... Chloe is a business associate," Daniel sputtered, his voice jumping an octave. "She had nothing to do with this!"

"We didn't say she did, Mr. Reeves," Detective Miller replied with a lethal smile. "You just did."

Daniel realized his fatal slip. His chest heaved, his eyes darting around the hallway looking for an exit, but Eleanor’s guards had already closed off the double doors behind him.

"You have no proof of anything," Daniel hissed, the charming mask slipping away entirely to reveal the snarling predator beneath. "Sarah loves me. She will never believe your lies, Eleanor! She knows you've always hated me! When she wakes up, she will throw you out of this room!"

"She is already awake, Daniel," a faint, trembling voice said from the doorway.

Daniel whipped around.

I was standing there, supported by a specialized wheeled frame, clad in a hospital gown that draped loosely to avoid touching the heavy white bandages encasing my upper body. My knuckles were white as I gripped the handles, every movement tearing at my flesh, but I refused to sit in a wheelchair.

I looked Daniel dead in the eye.

"Sarah..." Daniel gasped, taking an instinctive step toward me, reaching out his hands. "Baby, listen to me. They're trying to frame me. Your mother has always wanted to tear us apart—"

"Chloe Vance told me you said I wouldn't be able to fight back," I said, my voice quiet, but cutting through the corridor like a butcher's knife. "Did you tell her to aim for my face, Daniel? Or did you specifically tell her to boil my child alive?"