Chapter 2 - The Cold Calculation
The frantic blare of sirens cut through the freezing night air as the ambulance tore through the streets of the city toward St. Jude’s Women’s Hospital.
Ethan didn't leave my side. He held my hand in the back of the emergency vehicle while the paramedics worked frantically to stabilize my body temperature and slow down the active labor.
"Her core temperature is dangerously low!" the paramedic shouted over the noise of the engine. "We need heated IV fluids immediately! Get the warming blankets!"
Through the haze of excruciating pain and bitter exhaustion, I looked at Ethan. "Why are you helping me? Derek ruined your first company... he almost destroyed your life."
Ethan’s grip on my hand tightened gently. "Derek is a coward who destroys things because he lacks the talent to build them. Seven years ago, he stabbed me in the back. But you, Olivia... you had nothing to do with his sins. When I saw on the security feed that he locked his pregnant wife in a deep freeze, I didn't see an enemy's wife. I saw a monster trying to murder an innocent family."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping into an absolute, razor-sharp promise. "He is not getting away with this. I promise you."
By the time we reached the hospital's emergency trauma bay, a team of ten specialists was waiting for us. I was rushed straight into an operating room for an emergency C-section. As the heavy doors opened, I looked back one last time to see Ethan standing in the hallway, his phone already pressed to his ear, issuing cold, precise orders to his legal team and security force.
Two hours later, the quiet beep of heart monitors filled a private recovery room.
I opened my eyes slowly, my body wrapped in soft, heated blankets. The freezing cold was gone, replaced by a deep, aching soreness, but my hand immediately reached for my stomach.
It was flat.
Panic surged through me. "My babies..." I gasped, trying to sit up.
"Shh, stay down," a warm, gentle voice commanded softly.
Ethan stepped out from the corner of the room, pushing a double plastic bassinet toward my bed. Inside rested two tiny, miraculous bundles wrapped in pink and blue blankets, breathing softly under warm lights.
"A boy and a girl," Ethan smiled softly, the coldness in his eyes completely melting as he looked at the infants. "They're small, and they'll need to stay in the NICU for a few weeks, but the doctors said they are completely healthy. They are fighters. Just like their mother."
Tears streamed down my face as I reached out, my trembling fingers touching my daughter's soft, tiny cheek, then holding my son's tiny fist. They were alive. We had survived.
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Then the door to the room opened, and two uniformed police detectives walked in, followed by Ethan’s chief legal counsel.
"Mrs. Montgomery?" the lead detective asked respectfully. "We need to talk to you about your husband."
