Chapter 359: Contraction
Chapter 359: Contraction
[Sarah]
The man on the screen stared directly into the camera with cold, dead eyes. Behind him, I could make out the concrete walls of what looked like an abandoned warehouse, harsh fluorescent lights casting eerie shadows across the space. But it was the figure lying motionless on a dirty mattress in the background that made my blood run cold.
"Liv!" I screamed at the phone screen, my voice echoing off the bathroom tiles. "Olivia! Wake up!"
The masked man didn't even blink. He tilted his head slightly, studying me through the camera with the detached interest of someone examining an insect. Around him, I could see at least two other figures moving in the shadows—large, intimidating shapes that made my heart pound even harder.
"Please," I begged, tears streaming down my face. "Let her go. I'll give you anything you want. Money, whatever you need. Just don't hurt her."
The man's expression didn't change. He reached out and ended the call without saying a single word.
The phone slipped from my trembling fingers, clattering against the marble floor. I felt a searing pain tear through my chest, as if someone was striking me repeatedly with a blunt object. Each imagined blow made it harder to breathe, harder to think.
"Oh God," I whispered, clutching the sink for support. "Oh God, what have I done?"
My legs gave out beneath me, and I slumped against the bathroom door, gasping for air. The reality of what I'd just seen crashed over me in waves. Olivia—sweet, loyal Olivia who had defended me against everyone, who had stood by me through every scandal—was lying unconscious in some horrible place because of me.
Because I had sent her that message yesterday.
Because I had asked her to come over.
Because she was my friend.
The guilt was suffocating, pressing down on my chest like a physical weight. I could barely draw breath as the image of those men standing over her replayed in my mind. She was pregnant—six weeks along—and completely helpless.
A sharp pain shot through my abdomen, and I doubled over with a cry that echoed through the bathroom. The stress was too much. My body couldn't handle this level of panic, not at eight months pregnant.
"Sarah!" Mike's voice came from outside the bathroom door, followed by urgent knocking. "Sarah, what's wrong?"
I tried to answer, but another wave of pain hit me, radiating from my lower back around to my belly. This wasn't just emotional distress—something was physically wrong.
The bathroom door burst open, and Mike's face appeared, his expression shifting from concern to alarm as he took in my appearance. I was still on the floor, one hand pressed against my stomach, the other gripping the door frame for support.
"Jesus Christ," he breathed, immediately dropping to his knees beside me. "Sarah, talk to me. What happened?"
"The video," I managed to gasp. "They have her, Mike. They have Olivia, and she's—"
Another contraction—because that's what they were, I realized with growing horror—cut off my words. Mike's face went pale as he watched me double over again.
"You're having contractions," he said, his voice tight with barely controlled panic. "We need to get you to the hospital. Now."
"I can't leave," I protested weakly. "Not when Olivia is—"
"You're not doing anyone any good if you deliver this baby on the bathroom floor," Mike cut me off, already pulling out his phone. "I'm calling an ambulance."
As he dialed, I heard him barking orders into the phone with military precision. "I need an ambulance at the Pierce penthouse immediately. Patient is thirty-two weeks pregnant, experiencing premature contractions and severe distress."
"Mike," I called out as another wave of pain hit. "Call Alex. Someone needs to watch William and Emma."
He nodded grimly, already dialing Alex's number as soon as he finished with emergency services. "Alex? I need you at Theodore's penthouse now. Sarah's in labor, and the kids need supervision."
Within minutes, the penthouse was filled with the controlled chaos of emergency responders. EMTs were checking my vital signs and asking rapid-fire questions about my pregnancy history while Mike gathered my hospital bag—the one Theodore and I had packed just days ago during our shopping trip.
"Ma'am, we need to get you to the hospital," the lead EMT said gently but firmly. "Your blood pressure is elevated, and these contractions are getting stronger."
I wanted to refuse, wanted to stay and coordinate the search for Olivia, but my body was betraying me. Each contraction was more intense than the last, and I could see the worry in the paramedic's eyes.
Alex arrived just as they were loading me onto the stretcher. His usually composed face was creased with concern as he took in the scene.
"What can I do?" he asked Mike, his voice uncharacteristically subdued.
"Stay with the kids," Mike replied, grabbing his jacket. "I'm going with her to the hospital. Theodore's flying back from London, but he won't be here for hours."
As they wheeled me toward the elevator, I caught Alex's arm. "Olivia," I said urgently. "They have Olivia. Victoria—it has to be Victoria behind this."
Alex's jaw tightened. "I'll handle it," he promised. "James is already coordinating with Theodore's security team. Focus on yourself and the baby right now."
The ride to the private medical facility was a blur of sirens and concerned voices. Mike held my hand the entire way, his steady presence the only thing keeping me grounded as contractions continued to tear through my body.
"This is my fault," I whispered during a brief respite between contractions. "If I hadn't asked her to come over yesterday, if I hadn't sent that message—"
"Stop," Mike said firmly. "This isn't your fault. The only people responsible for this are the ones who took her."
But the guilt continued to gnaw at me. Olivia was out there somewhere, unconscious and vulnerable, because of her association with me. The thought made my chest tighten with a pain that had nothing to do with labor.
At the hospital, Dr. Martinez—my obstetrician—was waiting for us. Her calm professionalism was reassuring as she examined me, checking the baby's heartbeat and monitoring my contractions.
"The good news is that your cervix hasn't begun to dilate significantly," she said after her examination. "But your stress levels are through the roof, and that's triggering these contractions. We need to keep you here for observation and get these under control before they progress further."
"How long?" I asked, thinking of Olivia.
"At least overnight, possibly longer depending on how you respond to treatment," Dr. Martinez replied. "Sarah, I know you're worried about your friend, but right now you need to focus on preventing a premature delivery. Your baby isn't ready to be born yet."
They moved me to a private room and started an IV to help stop the contractions. Mike settled into the chair beside my bed, his phone constantly buzzing with updates from Alex, James, and Theodore's security team.
"Any word?" I asked hopefully during one of his calls.
He shook his head grimly. "They're still searching. Theodore's team has every available resource looking for her."
I lay back against the pillows, one hand resting on my rounded belly where our son was still moving restlessly, as if he could sense my distress. The other hand clutched my phone, desperately hoping for some word about Olivia.
The medication was beginning to slow the contractions, but it couldn't touch the anguish in my heart. Somewhere out there, my best friend was in the hands of people who meant her harm, and there was nothing I could do except lie here and wait.
"She's pregnant, Mike," I whispered, tears sliding down my cheeks. "Six weeks along. If something happens to her..."
Mike's expression darkened. "Nothing's going to happen to her. Theodore will find her."
But as the hours ticked by with no news, I felt consciousness slipping away from me, the stress and medication finally taking their toll. The last thing I saw before everything went black was Mike's concerned face hovering over me, his mouth moving in words I could no longer hear.