THE CHRISTMAS PARTY BELOW

The Kingston mansion looked like Christmas had been purchased rather than celebrated.

A thirty-foot tree rose in the center of the grand ballroom, wrapped in gold ribbon, glass ornaments, and soft white lights that reflected across marble floors. Crystal chandeliers burned above a crowd of wealthy guests in black tuxedos and shimmering gowns. A string quartet played near the staircase while waiters carried silver trays of champagne through the laughter. Outside the tall windows, snow drifted silently over the frozen gardens.

Downstairs, everything glittered.

Upstairs, two little girls were hungry.

At the center of the ballroom, Vanessa Kingston lifted her champagne glass and laughed as if the world existed only to admire her. She was thirty-one, blonde, flawless, draped in a silver gown that caught every chandelier light. Diamonds covered her throat, wrists, and ears. Some had belonged to her husband’s late mother. Some had been bought last week from an account meant for the household children. Vanessa wore them all like proof that she had finally become untouchable.

No one noticed the small door beneath the back staircase.

No one heard the tiny scrape of knees against cold wood.

Eight-year-old Emma Kingston crouched in the shadowed service passage, holding half a slice of bread in both hands. Her face was dirty, her brown hair tangled, her gray shirt too thin for December. Beside her, her five-year-old sister Sophie sat with her knees pulled to her chest, eyes red from crying, clutching a stuffed rabbit whose fur had gone flat from too much holding.

The bread between them was spotted with green mold.

Emma tried to tear away the worst part before Sophie saw it.

“Don’t eat that side,” she whispered.

Sophie’s stomach growled loud enough to frighten them both.

From below came another burst of music and laughter.

Vanessa was dancing now, spinning slowly beneath the chandelier while guests applauded her diamonds. She had told everyone the girls were asleep. She had told the staff the children had become “difficult since their mother died.” She had told the kitchen not to send trays upstairs unless she approved them. She had told herself that rich children should learn discipline early.

Emma took one bite and forced herself not to gag.

Sophie watched her, trusting.

That was the worst part.

Emma held out the cleaner half. “Here. This part is okay.”

Sophie reached for it with shaking fingers.

Then the mansion’s front doors opened.

A cold gust swept through the foyer, carrying snow and the sound of hurried footsteps. In the ballroom, several guests turned. Vanessa paused mid-laugh.

Alexander Kingston had come home early.

He stood at the entrance in a dark gray overcoat, black suit beneath, snow melting in his hair. He had been gone for six weeks closing a hotel acquisition in London. Vanessa had expected him tomorrow. The children had expected him every night.

Emma heard the change in the house before she saw him.

The music lowered.

The laughter thinned.