The waitress’s response is quick, she’s probably afraid the longer I stand here the higher the chances she’ll be cleaning up vomit off the floor. It’s not even nine-thirty but we’re in Vegas she’s probably used to people drinking and partying all day. “Back through the lobby, last door on the left, there’s a staircase.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t shut the door, it’ll lock!” She calls from behind me.

The staircase is easy to find and once I’m outside, taking in that fresh, non-circulated casino air, I take in a deep breath. Heeding the waitress’s advice, I keep my body positioned between the open door and the frame. Vegas is lit up around me, twinkling lights reminding me of the camera flashes at my fashion show, the elation I felt when I walked the runway behind my designs, and for a moment, I’m at peace. Then I ruin all the good feelings by pulling out my phone and listening to Alec’s voicemail again. His familiar tenor cuts through the distant sounds of the traffic below. It’s only the second time I’ve listened to it. I’m not sure what I’m listening for. The message was pretty clear the first time. He doesn’t love me. Our relationship, which I thought would be my last, is over.

“…I’m not in love with you anymore, Em.” Yup there it is clear as day. It doesn’t hurt hearing it again as much as I thought it would. I’m angrier with myself for foolishly thinking we might be getting engaged. We clearly were not on the same page.

Do I miss him or do I miss the thought that he was the one? That I had invested two years into a man that I thought was going to be my husband to find out that he didn’t feel the same way?

From somewhere in front of me someone clears their throat, cutting through Alec’s ramblings.

Caught off guard, my phone slips out of my hand and I lunge forward in an attempt to catch it. With my body no longer being used as a door stop, the metal door slams closed behind me. The ominous sound of an automatic lock clicking into place doesn’t stop me from checking the handle anyway. Yup, locked. Oh shit. The waitress said not to close the door. But, then I remember the throat clearing and my attention is drawn behind me. A man has stepped from the dark corners of the rooftop toward the door where the single overhead bulb illuminates him just enough to display his large frame.