"You pushed my sister down the stairs," Victor Benton said, and his hand hit her face.
Ainsley tasted iron and smiled without humor.
"That is a lie," she said.
"She'll say what she needs to say," Francesca wailed from the grand staircase, one hand on her belly, the other pointing. "She shoved me. She tried to hurt my baby."
"Francesca, stop," someone in a suit said. "Sit down. Call security."
"They saw her on camera," a woman in pearls hissed. "She shoved her."
Ainsley looked at the crowd the way a hawk looks at field mice. People with phones, people with wine, people with deals pinned like medals to their lapels. Cameras blinked. Gossip leaned forward.
"Give me one second," Ainsley said. "I will explain."
"Explain what?" Victor asked.
"How you staged everything," Ainsley said. "How you set the camera angle. How you planned the fall."
Victor's jaw tightened. "You think you're clever. You think you can worm your way back into our lives."
"I never wanted to be in your life," Ainsley said. "I wanted one thing: leave in peace with my children. You made that impossible."
"Get her out," Francesca sobbed. "Call the police."
"Security," Victor ordered. Two men in black suits moved like a blade. One reached for Ainsley's arm.
"Don't touch me," she said.
The man grabbed her wrist. His grip was firm, not cruel. The crowd formed a circle. Conversation turned into commentary.
"You think you can talk to me
