(Rosalind's POV)
The stylist pinned the final curl of my hair, and I stood up, smoothing the silk of my custom gown. I took a deep breath, pushing down the nerves, and threw open the dressing room door. I wanted to see Asher's face. I wanted to see that rare spark in his cold eyes.
The lounge was empty.
"Where is he?" I asked, my smile faltering.
Asher's makeup artist shifted on her feet, avoiding my gaze. "Mr. Smith... he took a call. Some woman was crying and screaming that he couldn't get married. She said she'd jump off the building if he went through with it." She pointed a trembling finger toward the balcony doors. "He went out there."
I felt the blood drain from my face. I turned back to the mirror, checking my lipstick with mechanical precision. Outside the door, two waiters were whispering loud enough for me to hear.
"Crazy, right? Some woman's threatening to jump from the rooftop."
"Yeah, security's trying to talk her down."
I knew exactly who it was. Aurora Campbell. Asher's childhood friend. His constant shadow.
This was the ninety-ninth time Aurora had pulled this stunt. I stared at my reflection. My hazel eyes looked back, tired and dull. I was exhausted.
"Jump,"I thought. "Do it. Save us all the trouble."
Five years. I'd spent five years in this relationship, and I'd never felt like the girlfriend. I felt like the mistress.
Whenever Aurora cried, Asher dropped everything and ran to her.
But this time was supposed to be different. Asher had promised me. He'd looked me in the eyes and sworn that last time was the final time he'd deal with Aurora's drama.
I'd believed him. That's why I'd agreed to this wedding.
My patience was gone. This was his last chance.
I pushed open the heavy glass doors to the terrace. The wind whipped at my veil. Asher stood by the railing, his black tuxedo sharp against the gray skyline. He was on the phone.
"You won't do it, Aurora," he said, his voice flat, devoid of panic. "You don't have the guts."
He hung up.
He didn't run. He didn't rush to the elevator. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. He finally grew a brain, I thought. He knows she's acting.
Asher turned and saw me. His face remained expressionless.
"Are you ready?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
He offered his arm. I knew Asher had some kind of emotional detachment disorder. He struggled to connect with people, to feel empathy. But he was marrying me. That meant I was special to him. That meant something.
The organ music swelled. We walked down the aisle, the scent of white roses filling the air. Guests turned, smiling. We reached the altar. The priest opened his book.
Rrrring.