Chapter 1: The Shoe Over My Head
The shoe hovered above my head and I couldn't look away from the heel.
It was a light-colored pump, the kind I'd seen Vanessa kick off under the banquet table earlier when she laughed too loud at Marcus's speech. Now she held it in her right hand over me like a hammer, her magenta mermaid gown stretched tight over her knees as she leaned down, her dark hair pulled back so severely I could see the tendons in her neck. The black-and-white checkered marble was cold against my cheek and my left forearm burned where the glass had cut me. Shards glittered everywhere, catching the warm light from the wall sconces. I could taste blood.
I had just been named the foundation's honoree an hour before. People had clapped for me in that ballroom. Vanessa had clapped too, with that tight smile. Now she stood over me while I was face down in sequins that were supposed to make me feel beautiful, and she said it with her whole chest.
My name is Elena Rourke and I was the one on the floor.
It was 10:42 and the hallway outside the ballroom was supposed to be empty. The double doors at the far end were still open to the night air, and the string quartet inside was playing something soft enough that I thought no one would hear me if I stepped out to breathe. I remembered the waiter backing away with a shattered tray, remembered my hand going out to catch myself, remembered Vanessa's voice coming up behind me before I could get to my feet. She didn't ask if I was okay. She just stepped over the broken glass in her magenta heels, picked up the shoe I'd lost, and raised it.
She was breathing hard. I watched the shoe wobble slightly above me, her knuckles white around it. The light from the sconces made the sequins on my own dress throw little reflections onto the white paneled walls. A drop of blood slid from my arm onto the glossy tile.
"You deserve this!" she shouted down at me.
I didn't answer. I couldn't get enough air to. My palm was flat against the cold tile and the glass bit into my skin when I tried to push up.
Then the air changed. A draft came through the open double doors and I heard dress shoes hitting marble, fast and uneven. Marcus came through those doors at a run, his black tuxedo jacket open, his bow tie still straight, his fists clenched like he didn't know what to do with his hands.
"Stop right there!" he shouted, and his voice cracked over the quartet.
Vanessa turned toward him, the shoe still raised overhead. She didn't lower it. For a second her face flickered — surprise, then something sharper — and Marcus closed the distance between them in three long strides. I saw him reach her and make contact, his shoulder into hers, and the blur was so fast I heard it more than saw it. She let out a sharp gasp and went down hard onto her hands and knees, the shoe flying from her hand and skittering across the checkered floor toward the wall.
She sat back on the marble then, clutching her left cheek with her left hand, her mouth open, her eyes wide and wet. She looked stunned, not like someone who'd been caught, but like someone who'd been betrayed.
Marcus was standing over her now, chest heaving, looking down at her. He didn't look at me yet. I was still prone in the foreground, my bloody arm and outstretched hand right there among the glass where I'd fallen.
"Marcus, she attacked me first." Her voice was small and hurt and perfectly steady, even as she held her face.
He didn't move to help her up. He kept his body between us.
"Step away from my wife."
The hallway went quiet except for my breathing and the faint music from the ballroom. No one else had come out yet. The double doors still showed that square of black night. I tried to lift my head but the room swam. Vanessa stayed on the floor, her magenta skirt twisted around her legs, her cheek reddening under her palm. Marcus's shoes were planted on the white tile between us like a line neither of us was supposed to cross.
Above us, something blinked.
May you like
I followed the sound with my eyes without moving my head. Slow, up past Marcus's shoulder, to the ceiling. There was a white dome security camera mounted against the white crown molding, its dark lens reflecting the sconce lights. Inside it, a small red indicator was blinking, steady and bright.
It had been recording the whole time.
