Sunny with a chance of homicide?

Stella's pov

I knew this chick was rich but Oh. My. God! I drive into a gated community where every house screamed wealth and power. Queenie just stared out the window with her face smooshed against the glass. I'll try and check in on her tomorrow and make sure she's ok.... I pull up to a large house she pointed out, with pristine gardens and fountains lining a drive way to a mansion that reminded me of a Barbie dream house. "You...live here?"
"Yeah. That a problem?" Queenie says slurring slightly as she tries to stay awake.
She was a mess, tangled hair, mascara running down her face, puffy red eyes and smelling like vomit. If any of her makeup artists or producers or whoever took care of her would faint. "No" I reply taking in the beautiful house. I park and a valet comes over and tries to take my keys.
"Oh uhh I'm not staying long. You don't have to" I mumble incredibly self conscious around the fancy rich people things. Queenie stumbles out of my car and I walk around to help her.
"Careful. You're wobblier than a new born dear." She reaches down and grabs her purse before clinging to my hand as I guide her up the pristine white stairs of her "house" that was fit for a princess.
The inside was even more extravagant than the outside.
I stood there for what felt like an eternity completely dumbfounded by the crystal chandeliers and two curved stairs going in opposite directions, the floors were so clean she could see her reflection and the stain glass windows depicting a family of three were all in perfect condition.
Each window had a girl and two men each time the girl looked older and I slowly realized they were her family.
Who has the kind of wealth to get a family portrait made out of stain glass?!
The mansion was gorgeous but I could still feel the twisting of jealousy as I looked around in awe while Queenie pulled me up one of the sparkling staircases and down another pristine hallway that looked like it was made out sapphires though I highly doubted anyone was that rich.
Queenie seemed to be in a daze probably in shock I figured but she wouldn't let go of my hand as she pulled me to a door with a carved plaque reading "Amber's Bathroom".
"Wait here... please" Queenie asked as she entered the bathroom. Why would she want me to stay? I probably should though...make sure she doesn't have a melt down when the shock and adrenaline wear off.
I reason as I wander around looking for a living room or kitchen.