Chapter 2: A Fortuitous Encounter

(Rosalie's POV) Silence stretched between us. "There's no sound, babe," he finally said, his tone carefully light. "You've been working too hard. You're hearing things." I bit down hard on my lower lip. My nails were definitely drawing blood now. "Okay," I said softly. "Don't work too late. Oh, and don't forget-tomorrow afternoon we're trying on wedding dresses. I made an appointment at that haute couture boutique. Three o'clock." Another pause. His breathing grew more ragged. Whatever he was doing to her, he hadn't stopped. "Tomorrow afternoon?" Irritation crept into his voice. "Babe, we have an important acquisition to handle-" "More important than our wedding?" I cut him off smoothly. "Lucian, this is a once-in-a-lifetime moment for us." More wet sounds came through the phone. The rhythmic slap of bodies. He was barely trying to hide it now. "Rosalie." His voice had gone cold. "You know I want to save the 'first look' moment for the actual wedding. Seeing you in your dress should be sacred." He paused. Delilah's moan was clearer this time. "Besides," he continued, "you handle multimillion-dollar deals on your own all the time. A simple dress fitting shouldn't be a problem. You've always been so capable. You won't disappoint me, right?" The words hit like a slap. And the worst part? I knew exactly what he was doing while he said them. Still buried inside another woman while asking me to handle our wedding alone. "Fine," I said, keeping my voice steady through sheer force of will. "I understand. Get back to work then. Good night." I ended the call. My legs almost gave out. I leaned against the cold marble wall, gasping for air. The tears came then. Silent and hot and endless. Five years ago, I'd graduated top of my class from one of the world's premier design schools. I should have become a celebrated jewelry designer. But Lucian had said, "Steel Tech is just starting out. I need you." So I'd packed away my designs and my colorful dresses. I'd bought severe black suits and learned to blend into boardrooms. I'd taken drinks meant for him at business dinners. I'd negotiated deals he was too inexperienced to handle. I was the one who fired employees when things got tough. The one who smoothed over PR disasters. I'd thought I was building an empire with him. But to Lucian, I was just a tool. Boring. Frigid. Useful until I wasn't. Seven years of my life had become a sick joke. --- I stumbled into the lobby restroom and locked the door. Leaning over the sink, I dry-heaved violently. Stomach acid burned my throat. When I finally looked up, the woman in the mirror was a stranger. Severe black suit. Hair pulled back so tightly it hurt. Tear-stained face pale as death. This was the woman Lucian found repulsive? No. I wasn't frigid. I was a blade that had been sheathed too long. My phone buzzed on the marble counter. A text from the bridal boutique confirming tomorrow's three o'clock appointment. I stared at that message. Then I wiped my tears away. My lips curved into something cold and sharp. I typed back: "Will be there on time." Then I reached up and pulled the elastic from my hair. Chestnut waves tumbled down around my shoulders. My fingers moved to my shirt collar. I unbuttoned the top three buttons, revealing the collarbones and skin I'd kept hidden for so long. From my bag, I pulled out a lipstick I'd bought months ago but never worn. Too bold, I'd thought. Too attention-grabbing. The rose-red color went on smooth. The woman in the mirror was changing. Shedding her professional shell. Revealing the edge she'd buried for five years. This was the first time I'd violated Lucian's unspoken rules about "professional image." It was also the beginning of my revenge. I wanted everyone to see what happened when you backed a woman into a corner. Just how dangerous she could become. --- The next afternoon, I stood alone in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of Manhattan's most exclusive bridal boutique. The sales associate approached with practiced enthusiasm, but her gaze lingered on the empty space behind me. "Miss Foster," she said, a hint of curiosity in her voice. "Mr. Steel still couldn't make it today?" I didn't feel the usual embarrassment. Instead, I smoothed down my skirt with deliberate nonchalance and smiled sardonically. "Oh, you know Lucian. He thinks sending his credit card is enough. Honestly? The card is more pleasant company than he is." From the moment we'd set the wedding date, every single detail had fallen to me alone. Booking the Plaza Hotel as our venue, arranging the flowers, confirming the ring designs-I'd handled it all like I was executing a business merger. Lucian's contribution? A dismissive "I trust you to handle it." The man who'd knelt in Central Park and promised me a warm family was now treating our wedding like a solo performance he couldn't be bothered to attend. I stood before the full-length mirror as the associate adjusted the hem of my gown. Under the soft spotlights, this Vera Wang off-shoulder satin mermaid gown gleamed with a pearlescent sheen. The daring cutouts along the sides perfectly emphasized my slim waist. I studied my reflection. My makeup was flawless, but my eyes held a coldness born of seeing through everything. "This gown was made for you," the associate gushed. "Mr. Steel will be speechless when he sees you." I suppressed a bitter laugh, my fingers tracing the cold satin fabric. The associate mistook my silence for dissatisfaction. "Let me bring out the new Elie Saab that just arrived from Paris." My gaze fell on the expensive diamond ring on my finger. The absurdity of it all struck me hard. A groom who wouldn't even show up to see his bride in her wedding dress. What kind of "wedding of the year" was this? My phone buzzed on the velvet sofa. The screen lit up with an email from an encrypted server-an anonymous sender with a video attachment. The moment I pressed play, rage surged through me like wildfire. The video showed the back seat of Lucian's custom Maybach. Delilah was straddling his lap, her red slip dress hiked up to her thighs. Her lips, painted scarlet, nibbled at his earlobe. Her coy voice came through the speaker. "Lucian, you're really not going to help Rosalie try on wedding dresses? What if she finds out and gets angry?" Lucian's hand roughly yanked down the strap of her dress, exposing her breast. He buried his face in her chest, his tongue circling her n****e. "She won't get angry," he said, his tone flippant and calculating. "That stupid woman believes everything I tell her." A smirk spread across his face, dripping with superiority. "She's followed me around for seven years. Making her Mrs. Steel is just a way to legitimize the relationship so she'll work even harder for Steel Tech. Without her these past seven years, the company wouldn't be where it is today. But all I need to give her is a title, and I get the industry's top consultant for free." He laughed, the sound grating. "Letting her handle all the wedding planning makes her feel like she's the valued mistress of the house. In reality, she's just my indentured asset." The video continued. Delilah unbuckled his belt with practiced ease, her head lowering to his c**k. The footage froze on Lucian's face-calculating, mocking, utterly vile. I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles went white. I wanted to hurl it at his disgusting, lying face. A single tear fell onto the pristine white satin of the wedding dress. Not from heartbreak, but from pure revulsion and fury. Everything had been a lie. What I'd thought was partnership had been him exploiting free high-level labor. Those vows, those promises-all Oscar-worthy performances. The overwhelming absurdity and rage made me want to flee this place built on lies immediately. I ripped off the veil and stormed out of the fitting room. As I turned the corner near the hallway, voices drifted from the staff break room-hushed but distinctly catty. "That Foster woman comes alone every time. I bet her fiancé doesn't even want to marry her." "Maybe she trapped him? Those gold diggers are all the same, trying to get pregnant to lock down a rich guy. She looks polished, but it's actually pathetic." My footsteps halted abruptly. My chest felt like it was being crushed by an invisible hand. Even breathing became difficult. I slowly turned, my gaze cutting toward the gossiping staff members. Perhaps my look was too fierce. The previously noisy break room fell into deathly silence. The associates awkwardly shut their mouths, unable to meet my eyes. I smirked inwardly. Idiots. This expensive order and your commissions? Gone today. I turned on my heel, determined to leave this toxic place. But I'd forgotten about this damned mermaid skirt restricting my movement. I turned too quickly. My heel caught in the elaborate train. My body lost balance completely, pitching toward the hard marble floor. Just as I braced for impact, a pair of strong arms appeared from nowhere and caught me securely around the waist. The world spun. I collided with a broad, solid chest that smelled of cold cedar and a faint hint of cigar smoke.