The ambulance lights blinked like a warning siren in the night, washing over the marble steps of the hotel in shades of red and white. Mike’s tuxedo jacket was stained with blood from where he’d knelt to cradle Cynthia, who had collapsed in his arms moments after the chaos.

“She’s bleeding—please, help her!” Mike barked at the paramedics, his voice breaking. His hand trembled as he pressed it to Cynthia’s lower back, where a dark patch of red had begun to spread. “She’s pregnant. Eight and half months. We need to go—NOW!”

Ava ran alongside the stretcher as Cynthia was lifted into the ambulance. Her heels clicked frantically on the...