CHAPTER 1: The Funeral Smile That Came Too Early

The chapel at Ravenhurst was built for echoes, and that morning it used all of them for grief.
Rain pressed softly against the stained glass. White roses climbed the sides of the coffin at the front of the aisle. Every pew was filled with bankers, cousins, directors, old school friends, and women in black hats who had not spoken to Eleanor Vale in years but now watched her closely, trying to decide how much pain looked appropriate on a mother.
Eleanor sat alone in the first pew, gloved hands locked around a handkerchief. Her son Adrian lay ten feet away beneath polished white wood, gone at forty-two after a sudden illness that had moved through the house faster than any doctor could explain.
The minister had almost reached the final prayer when the chapel doors opened.
Two figures stepped into the aisle. Julian Vale, Adrian's younger brother, wore a black suit that looked chosen for photographs. On his arm was Celeste Marrow, blonde, beautiful, and smiling with the careful softness of a woman who had practiced innocence in mirrors.
Eleanor felt the room turn before she turned herself. A funeral should have room for late grief. This entrance carried none.