Chapter 2 - The Woman in Blue.
Maya saw the fear before Celeste could hide it.
It lasted less than a second, but it was enough.
“What bottle?” Maya asked without turning around.
Noah swallowed painfully behind the painting.
“The blue one.”
Celeste set her champagne flute on a side table with deliberate care.
“Noah is confused.”
“No, I'm not.”
His answer was weak, but clear.
Celeste's jaw tightened.
Maya took the phone from her pocket and held it where Celeste could see the glowing emergency screen.
The call was still connected.
“Police are coming,” Maya said.
Celeste moved faster than Maya expected.
She reached for the phone.
Maya jerked back and struck the edge of the console table.
The champagne flute fell.
It shattered across the marble.
The crash carried down the hallway.
For one terrible moment, both women froze.
Then Celeste whispered, “Look what you have done.”
Maya almost could not believe the words.
“You locked a child in a wall.”
“And you are creating a scene in front of two hundred guests.”
“They should see it.”
Celeste's eyes went cold.
“No, they should not.”
She stepped between Maya and the ballroom.
The movement was subtle, but unmistakable.
She was blocking the corridor.
Maya looked toward the distant light.
At the far end of the hall, a young server had appeared after hearing the glass break.
His name was Luis, and he had worked at the mansion for less than a month.
Celeste noticed him too.
“Everything is fine,” she called.
Luis hesitated.
Maya raised her voice.
“Get Mr. Hawthorne.”
Celeste turned sharply.
“Maya.”
“Get Jonathan now.”
Luis stared from one woman to the other.
Then a small hand appeared through the gap behind the portrait.
Luis saw it.
His face drained of color.
“What the hell?” he whispered.
“Go,” Maya said.
Luis ran.
Celeste closed her eyes for one slow second.
When she opened them, all warmth had disappeared.
“You have just made a very serious mistake.”
Maya crouched beside the opening again.
Noah's fingers curled around hers.
His skin felt cold.
“Where is the blue bottle?” Maya asked.
He looked toward Celeste and immediately lowered his voice.
“Her dressing room.”
“Where?”
“Behind the books.”
Celeste stepped forward.
“That is enough.”
Maya stood again.
“You heard him.”
“I heard a sick child repeating fantasies.”
Noah began to shake.
Maya could feel it through his hand.
Celeste noticed.
She softened her tone suddenly.
“Noah, sweetheart, you are frightening yourself.”
The boy recoiled so hard that his shoulder struck the wall.
“Don't call me that.”
Celeste's face went blank.
Maya felt a wave of anger unlike anything she had ever known.
“Noah,” she said, keeping her eyes on Celeste, “what happens when she gives you the blue bottle?”
He answered after a long pause.
“I forget things.”
“What things?”
“Mom.”
Celeste inhaled sharply.
Noah began to cry without making a sound.
“She makes me watch videos of Dad saying I lie.”
Maya's stomach turned.
Celeste took another step toward them.
Maya heard the emergency dispatcher ask whether the child was still conscious.
She raised the phone closer to her mouth without taking her eyes off Celeste.
“Yes.”
Celeste's gaze dropped to the screen again.
For the first time, she seemed to understand that the call itself was evidence.
Not a private accusation.
Not gossip she could bury with lawyers.
A live record.
Maya heard the dispatcher tell her not to disconnect.
Celeste heard it too.
The woman in blue slowly straightened her shoulders, rebuilding the public version of herself piece by piece.
It was almost frightening to watch.
By the time the distant ballroom doors opened, Celeste looked calm enough to step back onto the charity stage.
A man's voice echoed down the corridor.
May you like
“Maya?”
Jonathan Hawthorne was coming.
