CHAPTER 2: Celeste Wanted the Staircase

Celeste had chosen the staircase because it photographed beautifully.
Every important person in the city stood below it with champagne in hand: bankers, museum patrons, real estate heirs, women in diamonds, men whose smiles never reached their eyes.
If Ava disappeared from that staircase, Celeste believed the room would remember her instead.
For months, she had made herself unavoidable beside Grant. At lunches, she leaned close. At meetings, she touched his sleeve. At tonight's charity gala, she arrived wearing a gown too bridal to be accidental.
Grant allowed it because he loved admiration more than he loved truth.
Ava had walked into Vistion Hall late, alone, and pale from a long doctor's appointment she had not told anyone about.
She had not come to fight.
She came because her father asked her to sign the final papers transferring control of the hall's foundation into safer hands.
Celeste saw only a wife she wanted erased.
She stepped close as Ava passed the landing.
There was one sharp movement, hidden by satin and bodies.
The invitation had listed Ava as co-chair, but Celeste had ordered the seating chart changed, moving Ava's name from the main table to a small place near the donors' spouses.
It was a childish cruelty dressed in calligraphy, and Grant had pretended not to notice.
Then Ava was on the stairs, and the room forgot how to breathe.