"Hilda." His voice dropped, firm and warning. "Stop overthinking. I'll be home tomorrow."
He hung up before she could respond, then scrambled to soothe Vivienne, who was already losing patience.
Hilda watched the scene from the dark and laughed—a short, hollow sound aimed at herself. She turned and walked away.
When she really thought about it, she didn't even have the standing to call this catching him in the act. Vivienne was Jasper's lawful wife.
Seven years she'd given him. And she was nothing.
Her head felt heavy, her steps aimless. Without realizing it, she'd climbed to the rooftop. Cold wind cut across her face as she tipped her head back and stared into the pitch-black sky for a long, long time.
It wasn't until the gala ended and the noise of departing guests drifted up that she snapped out of it. She turned around and found Vivienne standing behind her. She had no idea how long the woman had been there.
"Hello, Hilda." Vivienne strolled toward her, unhurried. "You know who I am, right? I'm Jasper's wife."
"This is the first time we've met face to face. I'm hoping it's also the last."
"What do you want?" Hilda's voice was ice.