The air rushed through Julian's lungs as he launched himself horizontally through the open space of the foyer with arms stretched to their absolute limit. A fast swoosh of air filled the quiet hall, followed by a breathless silence as his fingertips brushed against the soft fabric of Maya's pink dress. He hauled her into his chest with a desperate grunt, wrapping his arms securely around her back just milliseconds before gravity slammed them toward the floor. Heavy impact echoed off the marble pillars, and a loud, screeching sliding noise rattled the antique display cases as they skidded violently across the polished stone. Friction burned through Julian's suit jacket, but he kept his body arched defensively over hers to absorb every ounce of the brutal collision.
Julian: I've got you, baby. I've got you, you're safe in my arms.
Maya: My stomach... Julian, it hurts so bad, please tell me the baby is okay!
Julian: Look at me, stay with me, don't close your eyes! Help is right here!
Julian dropped heavily to one knee on the fractured marble floor, gently cradling the trembling woman against his chest as his own breathing hitched in panic. A heavy emotional orchestra drone seemed to swell from nowhere, matching the frantic rhythm of his pounding pulse. He pressed his face into her hair, feeling the heavy, ragged gasps shaking her entire frame while blood from a minor scrape on his elbow stained his white shirt. Across the foyer, the estate's head security guard froze in his tracks, dropping his radio with a clatter that sounded like gunfire. The entire household staff stood paralyzed in doorways, staring in absolute disbelief at the wreckage of the living room floor.
Julian: Somebody call an ambulance right now! What are you all standing around for?! Call 911!
Head Guard: Mr. Vance, I'm calling them right now! Stay calm, sir!
Julian: If my wife or my child loses their life today, none of you will ever work another day in this city!
Head Guard: The line is ringing through! They're dispatching paramedics immediately!
Julian slowly lifted his furious gaze away from his wife's tear-streaked face, turning his burning eyes upward toward the second-floor balcony railing. Standing right at the edge, framed by the falling folds of the heavy American flags, was his own mother, her expression frozen in pure terror. Eleanor's jaw hung wide open, her manicured hands clamped tightly over her mouth in a desperate attempt to swallow her own visible panic. The cold, calculating matriarch who ruled the family empire with an iron fist suddenly looked like a cornered animal caught in the headlights of truth. She stared down at the surviving couple on the floor, her chest heaving with shallow, rapid breaths as the terrifying weight of her actions crashed down on her.
Eleanor: Julian... wait... I didn't mean... it was an accident, I swear to you—
Julian: Shut your mouth, Eleanor. Don't you ever speak to either of us again.