The corridor outside the ballroom smelled faintly of jasmine air freshener and floor polish, and the scent clung low near the carpet where Anya’s heels pressed soft dents into the fabric as she walked without rushing but also without slowing down.

  Behind her, the ballroom doors opened and closed in uneven intervals, and each time they moved a small wave of muffled voices spilled into the hallway before being swallowed again.

  She reached the sitting area near the elevators and stopped beside a narrow glass table where someone had arranged folded program booklets in a neat fan, and she touched the top one with two fingers, sliding it half an inch out of place before pushing it carefully back.

  Her phone vibrated in her clutch.

  She did not take it out.

  Across the hallway, a hotel attendant knelt beside a decorative plant, trimming a dry leaf with small silver scissors, and the quiet snip of the blades came at steady intervals that filled the space between distant voices.

  Anya lowered herself onto the edge of the sofa but did not lean back, and she kept both feet flat on the floor, her knees pressed together beneath the heavy fabric of her dress.

  The phone vibrated again.

  This time she opened the clutch.

  The screen was already lit with notifications stacking one over another.

  Livestream clip.

  Are you okay.

  Call me now.

  She stared for a moment, then turned the phone face down on her lap.

  The elevator chimed softly.

  Two guests stepped out, mid conversation.

  I am telling you, it was clearly pre recorded.

  No, I saw the timing.

  They noticed Anya at the same time and both fell quiet in the same awkward second, and the man gave a small stiff nod before guiding his companion quickly past her.

  Anya smoothed the front of her dress with both hands.

  From down the hall, hurried footsteps approached.

  The wedding planner appeared first, slightly out of breath but still smiling in the professional way that did not reach her eyes.

  There you are, she said gently.

  We were just making sure you were comfortable.

  Anya looked up.

  I am fine, she said.

  The planner nodded too quickly.

  Of course.

  Behind her, Preecha came into view more slowly, one hand still adjusting the cuff of his sleeve like he had not finished doing it earlier.

  He stopped a few feet away.

  Anya, he said.

  She waited.

  Inside the ballroom, a burst of forced laughter rose and then died just as quickly.

  The planner clasped her hands together.

  We can resume the schedule whenever you are ready, she said.

  There is only a small delay.

  Anya’s fingers pressed lightly into the fabric at her knees.

  Did the video stop, she asked.

  The planner hesitated for half a second.

  Yes, she said.

  Everything is under control.

  Preecha shifted his weight.

  Maybe we should talk privately, he said.

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  The planner immediately stepped back.

  Of course.

  I will be just over there.

  She moved toward the elevators but remained within polite distance, her phone already in her hand.

  For a moment neither Anya nor Preecha spoke.

  A housekeeping cart rattled somewhere farther down the corridor.

  Finally Anya asked, very quietly, Did you know.

  Preecha’s mouth opened.

  Closed.

  He rubbed his thumb slowly along the edge of his cuff.

  I knew there was… an incident, he said.

  Anya watched him.

  That is not what I asked.

  He swallowed.

  No, he said.

  The word came out thin.

  Her gaze dropped briefly to his hands.

  He had started picking at a loose thread near his wrist.

  You never asked, he added quickly.

  Anya leaned back at last, though only slightly.

  You never told me.

  From the far end of the corridor, the soft mechanical hum of the service elevator started up, low and steady.

  Preecha’s shoulders lifted once and fell.

  Mother handles staff matters, he said.

  Anya gave a small nod, but her eyes stayed on the thread his fingers kept worrying loose.

  Inside the ballroom, cutlery clinked faintly as if someone had finally started eating.

  The planner glanced over from near the elevators.

  We should not keep the guests waiting too long, she called gently.

  Preecha did not answer her.

  Anya reached down and picked at an invisible speck on her dress, rolling the fabric lightly between her fingers.

  Did she fall, Anya asked.

  Preecha’s hand stopped moving.

  That is what I was told, he said.

  Anya looked up again.

  By who.

  He hesitated.

  Mother.

  The service elevator at the end of the hall gave a soft ding as it stopped on their floor, though the doors did not open immediately.

  The planner shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

  Perhaps we should prepare for the cake presentation, she suggested carefully.

  No one moved.

  The elevator doors slid open at last with a soft mechanical sigh.

  A housekeeping boy stood inside holding a stack of folded white linens against his chest, and he blinked in mild surprise at seeing the three of them in the hallway.

  Sorry, he murmured, stepping out quickly.

  As he passed, one of the folded cloths slipped loose and dropped to the carpet.

  He crouched at once to pick it up.

  Anya watched his hands smooth the fabric flat before he refolded it carefully along the same crease.

  Thank you, he said automatically, though no one had helped him.

  He hurried off down the corridor.

  The elevator doors remained open behind him.

  A faint smell of detergent drifted out.

  Preecha finally spoke again.

  We can fix this, he said, though his voice lacked weight.

  Anya tilted her head slightly.

  Fix what.

  He did not answer.

  Inside the ballroom, someone began tapping a microphone lightly.

  Testing, testing.

  The sound carried through the doors in dull bursts.

  The planner pressed her lips together and checked her phone again.

  Madam Lian appeared in the ballroom doorway a moment later, her posture unchanged, her hands folded lightly in front of her.

  She stepped into the corridor without hurry.

  There you are, she said.

  Her eyes moved first to Anya, then briefly to Preecha.

  The guests are waiting.

  Anya did not stand.

  Madam Lian’s gaze lowered slightly to the phone resting face down in Anya’s lap.

  You should not read everything people post, she said calmly.

  Most of it is noise.

  Anya’s fingers curled slowly around the edge of the phone.

  Was she alone, Anya asked.

  Madam Lian did not blink.

  Staff often are, she replied.

  The planner made a small helpless movement with one hand.

  Perhaps we can continue this later.

  Madam Lian ignored her.

  Preecha drew in a quiet breath.

  Mother, he began.

  Madam Lian turned her head just enough.

  Yes.

  He hesitated.

  Then the words came out uneven.

  Did you send her to the roof.

  The corridor seemed to hold still for a moment.

  The air conditioner clicked softly overhead.

  Madam Lian looked at him steadily.

  I told her to reflect on her actions, she said.

  Anya’s hand tightened around the phone.

  Behind them, somewhere outside near the garden, a cat let out a low, rough cry that scraped along the quiet hallway.

  No one moved right away.

  The planner’s smile had completely disappeared now.

  Preecha stared at his mother.

  Madam Lian smoothed an invisible crease from her sleeve.

  The wedding is already delayed, she said.

  We should return.

  She turned slightly toward the ballroom.

  Anya did not follow.

  Neither did Preecha.

  The elevator doors at the end of the hall slid slowly closed on their own, the soft mechanical sound stretching longer than it should have.

  Inside the ballroom, the microphone squealed briefly with feedback.

  And still, no one in the corridor moved.