Unloved: Gabriella’s Quiet Revenge

Left Behind

Gabriella Hill's POV

"Mrs. Khan, stay still!" the chief security guard barked, stepping over the pool of blood with a panicked look on his face. "Get the master keys! The boss said lock the doors!"

"No! Wait!" I clawed at the cold marble, trying to drag myself toward the entrance. Pain shot through my abdomen like a white-hot knife, twisting inside my gut until my breath hitched in my throat. "Call an ambulance! Please... my baby…my child..."

The guard looked down at me, his eyes wide with hesitation, but he didn't reach for his phone. He turned the heavy key in the brass lock, the sharp click sounding like a padlock closing on a casket.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Mr. Khan’s orders were absolute. We can't let anyone in or out until he calls or returns from the hospital."

"He doesn't know!" I screamed, tears scalding my cheeks as I collapsed onto my side. "He didn't look! Please... call Peter..."

My hand trembled violently as I reached into my soaked dress pocket. My phone was cracked from the fall, the screen flickering weakly, but my fingers remembered the pattern by heart. I dialed the emergency contact speed-dial.

The phone rang twice before Dr. Peter Trus picked up, his voice crisp and full of background hospital noise.

​"Gabriella? I was just about to call you again. Did you get the second set of lab results I sent to your email?”

"Peter..." I whimpered, clutching my stomach with my right hand. "Help me. I'm bleeding."

The line went completely silent for two long seconds.

"What do you mean bleeding?" Peter’s voice dropped, stripped of all casualness, replaced by sharp medical authority and attention. "Gabriella, where are you?"

"At the house," I gasped, a fresh wave of agony ripping through my lower back. "I fell... down the stairs. Sandra... Michael took her to the hospital... they locked me inside..."

"They locked you inside?!" Peter shouted, a chair scraping loudly across the floor on his end. "Listen to me very carefully, Gabriella. Your blood work from this morning confirmed a high-risk pregnancy with twins.

You are in immediate danger of a complete hemorrhage. Are you feeling lightheaded?"

"Yes..." The chandelier lights above me were beginning to blur into soft yellow smears. "Peter, the doors are locked. The guards won't open them. They won't let me out."

"I'm ten minutes away," Peter barked, the sound of a car door slamming echoing through the phone. "Do not try to stand up. Press a towel against yourself if you can reach one. I am coming through those doors whether those guards like it or not."

The call cut off.

​I lay on the cold floor, listening to the faint sounds of beetles outside. My phone screen flickered again. A notification popped up across the top of the display; a news alert from a local town tabloid channel.

‘Billionaire CEO Michael Khan spotted rushing childhood sweetheart Sandra Hill to emergency care after estate incident. Wife not in view.’

A bitter, quiet laugh escaped my lips, turning into a sob that shook my entire body. Four years. Four years of keeping his home clean, lying in an empty bed, waiting for a man who treated me like wood. And when I was bleeding to death with his children on his own floor, he was busy playing hero for the news cameras and media.

The sharp sound of shattered glass suddenly exploded from the back kitchen corridor.

I shook, pulling my knees up as heavy boots hurried across the floor.

"Gabriella!"

Peter burst into the foyer, holding a medical bag in one hand and a heavy iron in the other. His coat was a bit wet from the drizzle outside, his brown curls damp against his forehead, his amber eyes wide with panic as he spotted me on the floor.

He dropped the iron tool with a loud clatter and dropped to his knees beside me, his hands instantly checking my pulse and lifting my head gently off the marble.

"I had to break the kitchen side-door glass," Peter said, his voice tight as he opened his medical kit, pulling out a syringe and a pair of gloves. "The guards tried to stop me at the gate, so I drove right past them. We don't have much time for an ambulance. You're going into shock."

"Peter... the babies..." I choked out, clutching his forearm. "Please save them..."

Peter’s hands paused for a fraction of a second, his jaw tightening as he looked down at the dark pool beneath my dress. A look of deep, heartbreaking grief flashed across his eyes before he quickly masked it with a professional calm.

"I need to give you a stabilizing shot right now to stop the internal bleeding," Peter whispered softly, pressing a swab against my arm. "I'm taking you to my private clinic. Not the city hospital where Michael took her."

"I don't want to see him," I rasped, my vision growing darker around the edges as the room began to tilt. "I don't ever want to see him again..."

"You won't," Peter guaranteed, his voice filled with a cold, protective rage as he pressed the plunger. "He lost the right to see you the second he closed that door and left you this way."

He lifted me into his arms, careful not to press against my abdomen. As he carried me toward the broken back entrance, my eyes swept over the foyer one last time.

The red box lay open near the bottom step, the small ultrasound image lying face down in a pool of my blood.

Peter carried me out into the dark, cold night, my head heavy against his chest. Every bump of his hurried stride sent a dull, throbbing ache through my core, but the emotional numbness setting in was far more terrifying than the physical pain I felt.

He slid me carefully onto the back seat of his SUV, laying a thick, blanket over my trembling body. Before he closed the door, he squeezed my blood-stained hand, his amber eyes fierce in the dim streetlight.

"Stay with me, Gabriella. Just keep your eyes on me," Peter urged, his voice tight as he rushed to the driver's seat and slammed the pedal down.

I turned my face toward the tinted window, watching the entrance gates of the Khan estate recede into the dark distance. The mansion sat on the hill like a sprawling, lifeless mansion, a place where I had given up four years of my youth, my identity, and my pride, only to be discarded like a piece of dirt.

My hand moved instinctively beneath the heavy blanket, resting over my flat, aching belly. Tears tracked quietly down my temples, mixing with the raindrops on my cheeks.

I am done begging, I vowed silently, the quiet, obedient wife dying right alongside the blood I had left on that foyer floor. I am done praying for a man with a heart made of pebbles.

The car accelerated onto the deserted highway. Suddenly, the screen of my cracked phone, still clutched weakly in my fingers, illuminated with an incoming call from Michael.

My chest heaved. I was sure he wasn't calling out of concern. Rather, he was calling to reprimand me for Peter breaking into his house.

With the tiny bit of strength I had left, I swiped the screen to reject the call, dragged his contact name into the block list, and popped the SIM card straight out of the side tray, dropping it into the darkness beneath the seat.

Minutes later, Peter pulled up to the secluded rear entrance of his private clinic. Three nurses rushed out with a gurney, their faces pale as they saw the blood stain.

They transferred me quickly, wheeling me down a bright hallway as the heart monitor began to beep in irregular, panic-inducing patterns.

"Her pressure is dropping fast, Dr. Trus! We're losing the fetal heartbeats!" a nurse shouted, spiking an IV bag above my head.

Peter prepped his gloves, his expression grim as he leaned over my face, mask in place. "Gabriella, the hemorrhage is severe. I need to put you under emergency anesthesia right now to save your life. Do you hear me?"

"The... twins..." I choked, a cold tear slipping past my eyelashes as the oxygen mask was fitted over my nose and mouth. "Peter... please..."

"I will do everything in my power," Peter promised, his voice echoing as the sweet, heavy chemical fumes filled my lungs.

As my eyelids grew impossibly heavy and the ceiling lights blurred into total darkness, the harsh, continuous flatline alarm of the heart monitor exploded through the operating room, followed by the frantic shout of the head nurse:

"Doctor, we have no pulse! We are losing her!"