The Fall Beneath the Chandelier

The chandelier made everything look expensive, even the silence.
Light poured over the marble staircase, over the polished rails, over the cream satin dress pulled tight across Amelia Cross’s eight-month belly.
She was on the steps with one hand braced against the cold stone and the other protecting her unborn child.
Above her, her husband, Grant, stood in a black tuxedo as if the scene were only a problem of presentation.
Beside him, Celeste Vale adjusted the silver dress he had paid for and looked down with a smile she did not bother hiding.
Amelia’s breath came thin and controlled.
She had not fallen far. She had caught the rail before her body could twist.
But the humiliation was already complete.
Grant looked at the staff gathered in the shadows and said, quietly enough to sound civil, “No one saw anything.”
Amelia lifted her eyes toward him.
At the far end of the hall, the front doors were still closed.
For now.