Chapter 3 - The Gunshot
The slap sounded like a gunshot in the cavernous dining room.
Chloe’s head snapped violently to the side.
The sheer force of the blow sent a blinding sting radiating from her cheekbone all the way down to her jaw.
She was seven months pregnant, her center of gravity already dangerously shifted and heavy.
She reached out blindly with both hands to steady herself against the massive mahogany dining table.
Her fingers slipped wildly against the starched white linen tablecloth.
Crystal water goblets rattled against fine bone china.
A heavy silver soup tureen slid a few inches, scraping loudly against the polished wood.
Eleanor did not back away.
May you like
The matriarch of the family stood tall and rigid, her heavy diamond rings catching the bright afternoon sunlight pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Those same rings had just scraped a red, angry line across Chloe’s pale cheek.
