The first thing I remember after my mother-in-law shoved me down the stairs was the sound of my grandfather’s emerald pendant skittering across the marble floor.
Not my scream.
Not the crack of my shoulder against the banister.
Not the horrible sensation of empty air opening beneath my feet.
The pendant.
A small, sharp sound.
Metal against stone.
The chain had snapped when Cordelia Vale ripped it from my throat.
For a fraction of a second, as I tumbled backward, I saw the emerald glitter beneath the chandelier.
Then I hit the landing.
Pain exploded through my left leg.
My vision flashed white.
I heard my husband running toward me.
“Flynn,” I gasped.
His face appeared above the railing.
For one desperate heartbeat, I thought he was coming to help.
Instead, Flynn Vale walked down the stairs slowly, stepped over my twisted body, picked up my phone, and pressed the power button until the screen went black.
