My billionaire husband watched his mistress trip my 8-month-pregnant body near the hospital stairs, and lied, “She’s
Dr. Nathaniel Whitaker didn’t rush. He walked with the controlled authority of a man who owned the very air we breathed. Preston’s posture shifted, his corporate smile smoothing out. “Dr. Whitaker, I apologize for the scene. My wife is hysterical. We are transferring her to my private facility.” My uncle didn’t look at him. He…