DOUBLE PULSE: SHATTERED VOWS AND THE TRUTH UNMASKED

"Let go of her!" Ethan lunged across the corner of the table, knocking over two leather executive chairs.

Victoria’s grip dug painfully into Clara’s wrist, yanking her sideways toward the floor-to-ceiling glass display case lining the boardroom wall. Clara stumbled, gasping as a sharp cramp tore through her lower stomach. Her instincts kicked in instantly; she curled inward, tucking her head and wrapping both arms around her twin bump to shield them from impact.

Ethan caught Victoria by the collar, throwing her backward onto the carpeted floor with terrifying force. Marcus and two building guards pinned Victoria down immediately, wrenching her arms behind her back as she screamed incoherently.

"Clara!" Ethan dropped beside his wife, his hands trembling as he hovered over her. "Did you hit anything? Did you fall?"

Clara was pale, her breathing shallow and ragged. She leaned against the edge of the conference table, one hand clutching her abdomen where a sudden, sharp tightening seized her muscles. "The... the babies," she gasped. "Ethan, it hurts."

Harold stood up, casually adjusting his tie as if the chaotic scene were merely an inconvenient delay. "Call an ambulance if you must, nephew. But fraud remains fraud. Even if Victoria executed the transfer, the receiving account requires Clara's encrypted signature. The board will vote on your immediate suspension tomorrow morning."

"Get him out of my sight before I kill him," Ethan growled at Marcus, never taking his eyes off Clara.

Ethan scooped Clara into his arms, ignoring the flash of pain in his own injured shoulder from an old sports wound. He rushed down the private executive elevator, bypassing the reporters gathering at the lobby entrance, and carried her straight into the waiting armored SUV.

"To Saint Jude’s, now!" Ethan yelled at the driver.

In the back seat, Clara leaned her head against the cool leather window, her vision swimming with dark spots. Ethan gripped her hand tightly, pressing it against his lips, pleading under his breath. "Hold on, Clara. Please hold on. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Clara looked at him through heavy eyelids. The terror in his eyes was genuine, but so was the memory of him throwing her clothes onto the lawn three weeks ago. "If... if anything happens to my babies, Ethan," she whispered, her voice fading, "I will never look at you again."