A fresh avalanche of contractions shredded the sentence. My vision fractured into black patches. It felt as if a hand wrapped in barbed wire was twisting my organs into a knot.

“Enough of the victim routine.” Preston turned his back on me and issued the order like a death sentence. “Kill the epidural pump. Restrain her extremities.

We’re proceeding with a forced extraction.”

“Doctor Pierce, this violates every clinical protocol! She’ll code!” The assisting nurse stepped forward to block his path.

“If she codes, the liability is entirely mine. Hold her down.” The sheer weight of his arrogance flooded the room. Cowed by it, three nurses exchanged horrified glances before pinning my shoulders and thighs to the table.

Through my blurring vision, past the blue of Preston’s gown, I caught Khloe standing behind him. The corner of her mouth twitched up into a fleeting, victorious smirk.