Page 58 of The Edge Of Us

“I dreamt of Allen,” I admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Her smile fell slightly, but she nodded. “You're walking through that dream today. Not for him. For you. For your kids.”

I exhaled. “For Kyle and Astrid”

Then her eyes lit up, nervous and excited. “My brother’s here. Jasper. He’s seated front row.”

I blinked, surprised. “Jasper?”

She nodded. “Yeah. He wanted to be here for my big day.” She leaned in. “And maybe to see you again.”

My breath caught in my throat. It had been months since I’d last seen Jasper Ashford. After Natasha. After everything. We'd met during visiting hours at the facility. His kindness had disarmed me. His steadiness had held me upright on the worst day of my life.

And now he was here.

My palms began to sweat. Brittany grinned knowingly.

“Don’t overthink it. Just… let it happen.”

Before I could respond, a familiar chill slid down my spine.

The curtain rustled behind us.

And there she was.

Natasha Kingsley.

Tall. Regal. Drenched in Chanel. She walked in like she owned every inch of air. Her golden hair was pulled into an elegant knot, her red lips curled into something venomous.

"Oh," she said smoothly, her eyes narrowing when they landed on me. "They let anyone walk Chanel these days. Even washed-up wives."

Brittany tensed beside me, but I stepped forward first.

"And they let snakes slither in too, apparently," I replied evenly. "Should I be surprised, Natasha? Or just mildly disgusted?"

Her mouth twitched. "Still bitter, I see."

"Still pathetic, I see."

She stepped closer, low voice cold. "Allen chose me."

"No," I snapped. "He used you. And you let him. That doesn’t make you special. That makes you a fool."

Her nostrils flared, but I wasn’t done. "You weren’t just the mistress, Natasha. You were my best friend. You sat at my table, played with my children, and still had the audacity to betray me."

A pause. She looked rattled now.

“You don’t get to rewrite history,” I added. “You helped destroy my marriage. You don’t get to waltz in here and act like it’s all in the past.”

“I was young,” she murmured, faltering.

“I was married. Oh please you were 25”

The room fell silent around us, save for the hum of zippers and the sharp snap of fabric being fitted. Brittany placed a protective hand on my arm.

“I’m fine,” I told her, eyes locked on Natasha. “Let her spit her venom. I’m wearing armor now.”

Before she could respond, our names were called for final fittings.

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