Chapter 1 - The Glass Tomb
The jagged shards of custom-milled crystal caught the amber glow of the entryway chandelier, throwing fractured, needle-like reflections across the cold marble floor.
Victoria’s shimmering silver sequin dress was soaked in a spreading crimson stain where her head had struck the edge of the antique oak credenza before she crashed through the display case. Her eyes were closed. Her chest didn't move.
Michael stood over her, adjusting the cuffs of his black tuxedo jacket with clinical detachment. The heavy silk fabric was spotless, save for a single smear of dust from the shattered mahogany frame. To anyone watching, he looked like a Wall Street executive pausing to admire a new art acquisition. But his wife lay motionless among porcelain figurines and antique pocket watches, broken like a discarded doll in her own home.
“Stupid, careless woman,” Michael muttered, his voice devoid of even a phantom echo of grief. “You always had to make a scene.”
From the shadows near the service corridor, Elena clamped both hands over her mouth, her knuckles pressing so hard against her teeth they ached. Her breathing came in short, jagged gasps, but she forced herself to swallow the panic crawling up her throat. If Michael knew she was standing there—if he saw her witness to what he had just done—she would join Victoria in the glass tomb.
Then came the sound that cut through the silence like a razor blade.
*Clatter, clatter, clatter.*
Frantic, rapid footsteps pounded down the grand wooden staircase. Seven-year-old Mia, still dressed in her matching silver party dress, skidded to a halt at the edge of the foyer. Her dark curls bounced wildly around her pale face as her eyes widened in horror.
“Mommy?” Mia whispered, her voice cracking.
She didn't look at Michael. She didn't look at the broken glass. She saw only the motionless silver dress and the dark blood pooling on the white marble.
“Mommy, wake up!” Mia screamed, sprinting past her father and dropping hard onto her knees directly among the razor-sharp glass shards.
“Mia, get away from her!” Michael barked, stepping forward.
The little girl ignored him entirely. She wrapped her small, trembling arms around Victoria’s shoulders, tugging frantically at her sleeve. “Mommy, please! Open your eyes! Stop playing!”
Victoria didn't stir.
Michael’s jaw tightened. A cold, calculating irritation flashed across his features. The girl was screaming too loudly. The estate staff in the guest wing might hear. The neighbors down the private lane might notice the lights. He couldn't afford hysterics; he needed control.
May you like
He turned toward the massive stone fireplace three yards away, his gaze locking onto the heavy wrought-iron fire poker resting in its brass stand.
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