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Interior. A grand American ballroom at night — chandeliers overhead, elegantly dressed guests filling the background. Warm golden light. Close on CLAIRE, early 30s, white American woman, eight months pregnant in an ivory satin gown, standing near the center of the room. Beside her, LEAH, late 30s, white American woman in a dark red dress, tips a glass of vodka deliberately onto Claire's stomach. Claire gasps and wraps both arms around her belly. A beat — then Leah raises a lighter. The flame catches the soaked fabric. Claire staggers backward, gown alight, screaming. A WAITER lunges from the left, tackles her to the floor with a tablecloth, smothering the flames. A second man arrives with a fire extinguisher — white foam engulfs the scene. The crowd freezes in stunned silence. Claire lies on the marble floor, shaking, both hands pressed to her belly. She looks up, searching the crowd. Leah says flatly, already backing away: "It was an accident." Claire whispers: "No. It wasn't." No logos, no brand names, no watermarks, no text overlays, no subtitles. Cinematic, grounded realism, Netflix drama tone.

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Interior. A grand American ballroom at night — chandeliers overhead, elegantly dressed guests filling the background....

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