I felt my hands slip and the world went dark — but what the police found on Eleanor's phone explained everything.

The moment I stepped through the grand oak doors, I felt it.

The same coldness that had chased me away three years ago.

I smoothed down my dress, my hands trembling slightly. I shouldn't have come. I knew that. But Mother's letter had begged me. Her health was failing. She wanted to see her only daughter one last time.

"Claire."

The voice sliced through the hum of the party guests like a knife.

I turned.

Eleanor stood at the top of the marble staircase, her red dress like a drop of blood against the white walls. My brother's wife. The woman who had stolen everything from me.

She descended slowly, her eyes never leaving mine. Each click of her heels on the stone felt like a countdown.

"You should never have come back here," she said, stopping inches from me. Her voice was low, only for my ears.

"I came for Mother," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

"Mother doesn't want you here," Eleanor hissed. "None of us do. You were disgraced. You left. You should have stayed gone."

"I have every right to be here," I said. "This is my family's home too."

Eleanor smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Was. Past tense. Now it's mine. And I don't share."

She reached out, her fingers gripping my arm with surprising strength. Her nails dug into my skin through the thin fabric.

"Let go of me!" I cried, trying to pull away.

We were near the top of the staircase now. I don't know how we'd moved there. Everything was happening too fast.

"Leave," Eleanor whispered, her face inches from mine. "Or I'll make you wish you had."

"I'm not leaving until I see—"

I never finished the sentence.

Eleanor's hands were on my shoulders. And then she shoved.

Hard.

I felt myself tipping backward. My arms windmilled, searching for something, anything to grab onto. I caught a glimpse of her face—triumphant, cold, utterly without remorse.

"Oh my god, she pushed her!" someone screamed from the crowd.

The world tilted. The chandelier above spun in dizzying circles. I was falling.

"Someone help her, please!" a maid shrieked.

I hit the edge of a step with my back. Pain exploded through me. Then I was tumbling, bouncing, each impact a fresh wave of agony.

"Claire!"

His voice cut through everything.

Ethan.

I saw him sprinting across the foyer, his face white with terror. He reached the bottom of the stairs just as I did, his arms outstretched.

"Hold on, I'm coming!"

I fell into his chest. We both went down, his body cushioning my fall. The air whooshed out of my lungs.

"Claire..." Ethan was cradling my head, his hands shaking. "Claire, look at me."

"Ethan..." I gasped. I couldn't get enough air. Each breath felt like swallowing broken glass.

"I've got you. I've got you," he repeated, over and over, like a prayer. His eyes were wild, scanning my face, my body. "Stay with me. Please, stay with me."

"I can't breathe..." I whispered. Dark spots were dancing at the edges of my vision. The pain was everywhere, sharp and heavy.

"Look at me," Ethan commanded, his voice cracking. "Keep your eyes open. Don't you dare close them."

I tried. I really tried. But the darkness was pulling me under.

"Call the police," Ethan shouted to someone, his voice echoing. "And get an ambulance. Now!"

The last thing I saw before everything went black was Eleanor at the top of the stairs, watching me fall.

And she was smiling.