Chapter 2 - THE NIGHT THE MUSIC STOPPED
"Call an ambulance," Julian repeated, still kneeling beside Evelyn. Behind him, the last fallen crystal rolled across the marble, making a small delicate sound that seemed obscene against her frightened breathing.
The nearest donor stared at Julian as if waiting for permission to move. Then a young waiter named Caleb Reyes pulled out his phone and spoke rapidly to the emergency dispatcher.
"Pregnant woman, thirty-four weeks," Caleb said, glancing at Evelyn's shaking hands. "She's bleeding after an assault. Ashcroft Hall, east entrance. Please send an ambulance right away."
Evelyn tried to answer the dispatcher through Caleb's phone, but another tightening seized her abdomen. She closed her eyes until Julian's voice brought her back to the room beneath the enormous chandeliers.
"My name is Julian," he said gently. "Can you tell me your name?" She swallowed twice before whispering, "Evelyn. Evelyn Carter. My daughter's name is Wren."
It startled him to hear that the baby already had a name. In his mind, the endangered child stopped being an abstract emergency and became somebody expected, loved, and known.
"All right, Evelyn," he said. "You and Wren are our priority now. Don't try to stand. The ambulance is on its way, and we're staying right here."
A woman in a silver dress offered a folded linen napkin for Evelyn's forehead. Julian accepted it, pressing it lightly against the cut while avoiding any unnecessary movement that might worsen her pain.
Vivian rose beside the ruined wine table. A red stain spread across the hem of her emerald gown, and a shard of crystal glittered near her heel like an accusation.
"Arrest that man," she told the head of security. "He assaulted me in my own home. I want every phone confiscated before this becomes a grotesque online misunderstanding."
Security chief Dennis Kroll hesitated. His employer's voice had ruled every gala he'd supervised, but his eyes kept drifting toward the pregnant woman and the ambulance dispatcher on Caleb's phone.
"Nobody takes anyone's phone," Julian said without looking away from Evelyn. "And nobody touches her. You can explain the rest to the police when they arrive."
Vivian stepped forward, and Evelyn shrank instinctively. Julian saw the movement and shifted sideways to block Vivian's path, leaving a clear passage for the emergency workers expected at the entrance.
"You're making a scene," Vivian hissed. Julian lifted his eyes. "No," he answered. "She asked for help. What happened after that made the scene."
Evelyn wished the room would stop staring. She had spent months pretending that fatigue was ordinary, that money worries were manageable, that being alone at her prenatal appointments did not ache.
Now strangers watched as she struggled to stay conscious. Shame rose suddenly in her chest, so powerful that she apologized before she realized what she was doing.
"I'm sorry about your show," she told Julian. "I didn't mean to ruin anything." He shook his head slowly, feeling a kind of anger no stage performance had ever required.
"You didn't ruin a thing," he said. "None of this belongs to you. Keep your eyes on me, Evelyn. Tell me whether you can feel her moving."
Evelyn rested a hand against her belly. For several long seconds, she felt only the tight frightened muscles of her own body. Then something fluttered faintly beneath her palm.
"I think so," she whispered. Julian nodded, careful not to promise an outcome he couldn't know. "Tell the paramedics exactly that," he said. "They'll know what to check."
Outside, sirens approached through the rain. The front doors opened, bringing a gust of cold air that stirred the silver ribbons attached to the fundraiser's enormous floral arrangement.
Two paramedics crossed the ballroom carrying equipment. Their leader, Angela Brooks, knelt beside Evelyn and asked brisk, compassionate questions while her partner checked vital signs and prepared a stretcher.
"We need to move her carefully," Angela told Julian. "Please give us some room." He rose immediately, but Evelyn held his sleeve for one more anxious second.
"Don't let her say I fell," Evelyn whispered. "I didn't fall before she hit me." Julian leaned closer so she could hear his answer above the murmuring crowd.
"I saw her strike you," he said. "Other people saw it too. I won't pretend otherwise, and you won't have to tell this story alone."
Angela guided Evelyn onto the stretcher with her partner's help. The cream dress was covered with a warm emergency blanket, and a portable monitor beeped steadily as they prepared to leave.
Vivian blocked the path to the doors. "My staff will handle the publicity," she announced. "If you require medical expenses, speak to my office rather than turning this into an accusation."
Angela did not pause. "Ma'am, move aside," she said firmly. Caleb opened the doors wider, and security chief Kroll finally stepped between Vivian and the ambulance crew.
The gesture cost Kroll his job; he knew it from the expression on Vivian's face. Yet he stayed where he was while the stretcher passed, unable to forget the woman's frightened apology.
Julian followed the paramedics into the rain until Angela explained that only designated medical personnel could accompany Evelyn in the ambulance. Evelyn reached toward him, and he promised to follow in another vehicle.
His tour manager, Nadia Price, appeared near the driveway holding his discarded microphone. She took one look at the blood on his sleeve and the ambulance's open doors before putting the microphone away.
"The label's already calling," she said. "They heard the show ended. What happened?" Julian watched the stretcher disappear into the ambulance before telling her to drive to St. Catherine's Hospital.
Nadia hesitated. An entire tour, sponsorship agreement, and broadcast contract depended on tonight's charity appearance. Then Julian's face made clear that he would never return to the stage to finish the set.
On the drive, he called Caleb and asked him to retain whatever he had recorded, but not to share medical images of Evelyn online. Caleb said police were already arriving at the mansion.
"Someone filmed everything," Caleb added. "And the ballroom cameras caught the front row. I saw their indicator lights. Vivian's people are trying to shut down the recording system."
Julian asked Caleb to tell the officers immediately. He knew the same world that adored a famous singer could destroy an unknown woman with a careless headline or a cropped video.
At St. Catherine's, the emergency department moved with relentless efficiency. Evelyn was taken directly toward maternity triage, where doctors checked her condition and listened for Wren's heartbeat.
Julian reached the hospital minutes later. He couldn't enter the treatment area without Evelyn's permission, so he waited beside a vending machine under lights too white and honest to flatter anybody.
He had performed in stadiums while seventy thousand people sang his name. Now he stood helpless with his hands trembling, unable to buy, sing, or argue a child into safety.
A nurse came through the double doors and asked, "Are you Julian Reed? Mrs. Carter said you could receive an update. She's conscious, but the team is concerned about the baby's monitoring."
Julian's stomach tightened. "Is Wren alive?" The nurse nodded cautiously. "There's a heartbeat. The obstetrician is assessing possible placental injury and whether an urgent delivery will be safer."
Farther down the corridor, a monitor sounded a sharper alarm. Evelyn's frightened voice rose from behind the doors, calling for someone to tell her what was happening to her daughter.
Julian took one step forward, then stopped at the boundary the nurse had indicated. For the first time in years, he understood that the most important thing he could do was wait without taking control.
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A doctor in blue scrubs emerged, removing her mask. "I'm Dr. Naomi Hayes," she said. "Evelyn asked me to speak with you. The baby's heart rate has become concerning."
Julian stared at her. "What does that mean?" Dr. Hayes drew a careful breath. "It means we may need to deliver her daughter tonight, much sooner than anyone planned."
