Chapter 8

Arthur stepped back, his face entirely blank. He had served the Knowles family for thirty years, and if the Missus wanted a ladder, the Missus got a ladder.

Alta stared at the polished wooden steps. The stool looked like it belonged in a private study, not in the middle of a glittering ballroom. It was a humiliation, plain and simple.

She tried one last time, her voice thin. "Anna, I really can't. I'll ruin the tower."

Annalise picked up a fresh glass of champagne from a passing tray. She took a slow, deliberate sip, her eyes never leaving Alta's face. "Climb."

Greggory, tired of the delay and the staring crowd, leaned in close to Alta. "Just do it, get it over with," he muttered through a clenched jaw. "Don't make a scene."

He didn't want to look bad. He didn't want people to think his girlfriend couldn't follow a simple order. He certainly didn't want Annalise to think he was weak.

Alta's head snapped toward him, her eyes wide with disbelief. He was supposed to be her partner. He was supposed to save her.

But Greggory was busy adjusting his cufflinks, refusing to meet her gaze. He was already distancing himself, leaving her to twist in the wind.

Alta bit the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted copper. She grabbed the sides of her short skirt, pulling them down as far as they would go, and placed a shaky foot on the first rung.

The ladder wobbled.

A low whistle came from somewhere in the crowd. It was followed by a ripple of laughter, mean and sharp.

Alta climbed another rung. The short hem of her white dress rode up her thighs, exposing more skin with every step. She tried to press her knees together, to keep some shred of modesty, but the action made her balance precarious.

She gripped the sides of the ladder, her knuckles white. "Almost there," she whispered to herself, a desperate mantra.

The crowd was no longer hiding their interest. Phones came out of pockets and clutches. The flashes were blinding, turning the scene into a grotesque photo shoot.

Annalise watched from the sidelines, her expression blank. She felt nothing. No guilt, no sympathy. Only a cold, satisfying sense of justice.

Alta reached the top rung. She stretched her arm out, her fingers brushing the neck of the antique bottle.

She shifted her weight to reach further. The movement was her undoing.

The skirt of her dress finally gave up the fight, sliding up to her waist. The bright flash of a camera illuminated her exposed skin for a split second, capturing the moment for the front page of every gossip blog in the city.

Alta gasped, her hand flying down to cover herself.

The sudden movement threw her center of gravity off. The ladder tilted violently to the left, the wooden legs screeching against the floor.

Greggory, who had moved closer to the base of the tower, saw her start to fall. His instinct took over, but it wasn't the instinct to catch her. It was the instinct to protect himself.

He stepped back, his hands coming up to shield his expensive suit from the falling liquid.

Annalise stood on the second-floor landing, leaning against the railing. When she had ascended the stairs moments ago, Eddy had silently peeled away from the main floor, using the service stairs to flank her position, melting into the shadows of the upper balcony like a phantom. She turned her head slightly, catching Eddy's eye. He was standing a few feet away, his phone already raised.

She nodded once.

Eddy's thumb hit the shutter button, the phone clicking rapidly in burst mode. He wasn't capturing the fall. He was capturing the look of sheer panic on Alta's face, the exposed skin, the humiliation.

Alta saw the lens. She saw the cold, hard lens pointed right at her.

"No! Don't shoot!" she shrieked, her voice cracking.

She let out a shriek, instinctively releasing one hand from the ladder to cover her exposed skin, but it was a fatal mistake. The sudden shift in weight made her lose her balance entirely, her body twisting as her feet left the rung.

The ladder gave way, crashing to the floor with a deafening clang.

Alta's hand flailed, her nails scraping against the edge of the champagne tower. The top tier wobbled.

A loud, sickening crack echoed through the room as the structure gave way.