On the Edge

Veronica's POV:

The rooftop of my penthouse has always been my sanctuary.

Twenty-five floors above the chaos of Manhattan, it's where I used to come to think, to breathe, to escape from whatever was troubling me. Tonight, it feels like the only place left in the world where I can exist without pretending to be okay.

I'm sitting on the ledge, my legs dangling over the side, a half-empty bottle of expensive whiskey clutched in my hand. 

The amber liquid burns as it slides down my throat, but it's a welcome pain... something real and immediate that cuts through the numbness threatening to consume me entirely.

From this height, the people walking along the sidewalks appear as tiny and distant as ants from this vantage point, and the streets below resemble intricate patterns of light. Cars move like glowing beetles, their headlights emitting streams of red and white that travel through the city's arteries like blood through veins.

Just as my life feels small and irrelevant, the city that once seemed so lively and full of possibilities now appears limited and meaningless.

I'm not afraid to be sitting here on this narrow concrete ledge, looking down at the dizzying drop that separates me from the street below.

I know that if I fall, it will be the end of me... a quick, final, absolute.

And strangely, I'm not afraid of that end anymore. 

What good was my life even to begin with?

What other identity do I have beyond being my father’s daughter?

I have no other identity, no other path forward. 

And I definitely can't obey and go back to Chase... not after learning what kind of monster he really is.

So where does that leave me?

Nowhere. Absolutely nowhere.

I take another sip, feeling the alcohol make my feelings go numb, at least temporarily.

The city lights blur slightly as the whiskey works its way through my system, creating a dreamlike quality to the world spread out below me. The sounds of traffic and city life drift up from the streets, but they seem muted and distant, like they're coming from another world entirely.

My phone rings, cutting through the fog in my brain. I fumble for it with my free hand, nearly dropping the whiskey bottle in the process. Penny's name flashes on the screen, and for a moment, I consider not answering.

But she'll just keep calling, and part of me needs to hear another human voice, even if I can't explain the darkness that's consuming me.

"Hey, Penny," I say, my voice slightly slurred from the alcohol.

"Where are you?" Her voice is tight with worry. "I'm worried about you. I have been calling you since the morning. Why aren’t you picking up the phone?”

"My father wanted a son. But I’m just a girl. I am a disappointment to him." I laugh, but it comes out bitter and hollow.

"And you know what? He tells me to marry Chase even after knowing that he is toxic.”

“That sounds terrible, V”, she says. “How are you holding up now?”

“Does it even matter now?” I say. “What is the use of holding up when you aren’t even wanted by the man you respected all your life?”

“V, calm down. Just tell me where you are now. I’m coming over there.”

I lean back against the rooftop access door behind me, tilting my head up to look at the night sky. Despite all the light pollution from the city below, I can still make out a few stars scattered across the darkness like diamonds on black velvet.

"Stars look clear tonight despite the pollution," I say dreamily. "It's good."

"Are you on the roof drinking by yourself?" Penny's voice has shifted from worried to panicked, and I can hear her moving around, probably grabbing her keys and jacket.

"Yes, it's awesome," I say, stretching my legs out over the ledge and feeling the cool night air brush against my ankles.

The freedom of it is intoxicating... more intoxicating than the whiskey, even.

If only my real life had this freedom of expression. With people who valued me, gave me freedom, my voice, and the very idea of me.

"Don't go near the ledge," Penny says urgently. "You're drunk."

"I'm on the ledge now," I tell her matter-of-factly, adjusting my position to get more comfortable on the narrow concrete barrier. "It's comfortable here."

"Don't move!" Penny's voice is sharp with terror now. "Stay exactly where you are. I'm coming to you right now."

"What, are you afraid of me that I'll fall. You are silly," I laugh.

But the line goes dead, and I just chuckle to myself.

What can she possibly do to make me feel better? 

I'm a total mess right now, broken in ways that can't be fixed with good intentions and best friend hugs.

I sit on the ledge, leaning back and looking up at the night skyline and all the uncertainty it holds. It's all dark and mysterious, stretching endlessly in every direction.

What could be on the other side of that sky? 

Is it any better than the earth I'm living on?

Then I look down at the street far below, and I've never felt such a thrill.

I actually feel less pain, at least temporarily, from the rush of adrenaline that comes from being so close to the edge... so close to the ultimate escape. It seems as though all of the emotional pain is replaced by fear... which is somehow easier to manage than the complex web of betrayal and disappointment that's been suffocating me.

The sky above and the ground below. 

The ultimate choice between two extremes. 

In some twisted way, the only way to go up is by going down, isn't it?

The only way to escape this mess of a life is to let gravity solve all my problems in one clean, permanent solution.

But am I bold enough to do it? 

No, I’m a coward. And I can’t leave my mom alone.

I take another drink, feeling the whiskey warm my stomach and blur the edges of my vision even further.

The city lights create halos and starbursts in my peripheral vision, and the wind picks up slightly, ruffling my hair and making me sway just a little on my precarious perch.

For a moment, I close my eyes and imagine what it would feel like to just... let go. To stop fighting against the current of disappointment and betrayal that seems to define my existence.

To finally be free from the expectations and manipulations, and the lies that have shaped every important relationship in my life.

I stay like that for twenty minutes.

But then I hear footsteps on the rooftop behind me, fast and urgent, and before I can turn around to see who it is, a pair of strong arms wraps around my waist from behind.

"Got her!" a deep voice shouts, and suddenly I'm being pulled back from the ledge, my body slamming into broad, solid shoulders.

I look up, my vision still slightly unfocused from the alcohol, and find myself staring into a face that I recognize but can barely believe I'm seeing.

Dark hair as black as the night sky above us, pale skin that contrasts sharply with intricate tattoos running up his neck, and those impossible blue eyes that seem to glow even in the dim rooftop lighting.

Maximilian Ashford. One of the billionaire brothers. What the hell is he doing on my rooftop?

"What a reckless little girl," he says, and there's a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth despite the obvious concern in his eyes.

I'm too shocked and too drunk to form a coherent response.

Instead, I just stare into his blue eyes, wondering if I'm hallucinating, wondering how he found me, wondering why he's here at all.