Riley
The penthouse feels too quiet.
I pace the living room, wringing my hands together as I glance at the clock again. Damien texted hours ago that he'd be back soon, but "soon" feels like forever. My chest tightens with every passing second, anxiety clawing at me.
I sink onto the couch, pulling a throw pillow onto my lap and hugging it tightly. My thoughts are racing—spiraling, really. Everything feels too big, too overwhelming.
The wedding is tomorrow. I should be excited, but instead, I feel like I'm on the edge of a cliff, and the ground beneath me is starting to crumble.
The sound of the elevator dings, and I bolt upright. Moments later, Damien steps into the penthouse, his jacket slung over his shoulder, his tie loose around his neck. He looks tired but happy, his expression softening the second he sees me.