Chapter 11: The Missing Bride.

George's POV

I parked my car a few meters from her place, hands gripping the steering wheel tighter than I realized. The engine hummed low, but my chest thumped louder.

I should have felt relief...happiness even, seeing her again, but something inside me twisted with unease.

Betrayal had a scent, and damn, it felt close. Last night’s exchange, the way she’d looked at me, the subtle pull toward giving me a chance...it should have been a spark, a hope. But Cierra… Cierra could never be trusted when emotions were involved.

I muttered under my breath, “You can do this, George… you got this.”

The words barely convinced me.

I stepped out, straightened my jacket, and approached the front door, each step feeling heavier than the last. I rang the bell...

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Silence.

My throat went dry, and I fished my phone out to call her. Line switched off.

Confusion prickled my spine. I stepped back, scanning the garden, and froze. A man...a mature man, calm and composed...was watching me from the shadows.

“Hello, Mr…?” he called, voice calm but firm.

“Good day, sir,” I replied cautiously.

He tilted his head slightly. “Do you… need to see someone?”

I hesitated, then answered, “Uh… yeah. Is anyone in?”

He paused. “Uh… I think…”

The front door swung open, and there he was...Blinky... My chest lifted slightly in relief.

“Uh… hello?” he said, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Blinky, thank heavens. How are you?” I tried to keep my voice steady, though my nerves rattled my stomach.

He eyed me suspiciously. “Why are you here?”

“Uh… Cierra. Is she in?”

“No. Why?” Blinky’s tone was sharp, almost teasing.

I cursed under my breath. “Uh… fuck. Where is she?”

Amusement danced in his eyes. “Am I supposed to answer that?”

I ran a hand through my hair, frustration spiking. “I just… I just want to know.”

“Well…” He started slowly, leaning casually against the doorframe. “…she left. Not long ago. With her mom… to the bridal home.”

My brow furrowed. “Bridal home? Is there such a thing?”

He chuckled mockingly. “Maybe you should ask your father, George… don’t stress me, man.”

I opened my mouth to push further. He hissed slightly, stepping past me. “What?” I called after him.

“Hold on, are you okay???” He said without looking back.

“Her line’s switched off. Can you...please...just give me the address of where they headed?” I pleaded.

He laughed, a low, mocking sound that cut through my chest like ice. “Hold on, George. First… do you really think Cierra would give a dog like you a chance?”

“What do you mean?” I said, my hands trembling slightly.

“Listen… public cock,” He said slowly, savoring the words, “her mom knows what you did to her. And if you think just because her mom is getting married to your dad, that you get a love story with her… nah, bro. Nope.”

“No… no, but...”

“I’m not done speaking,” he snapped.

“Oh… sorry,” I muttered, shame prickling.

“Your parents’ marriage? Not a sign. Generational curse, George. So get lost.”

“I… Blinky, I know I made a mistake,” I said, voice cracking slightly.

“Please, cut it, man,” He said dismissively, waving me off. “A lot of coochies out there dripping… go help them out, sucker.”

He turned sharply and closed the door. I staggered back, stunned, heart racing. I didn’t even realize I’d been holding my breath.

I walked back to my car numbly, the world a blur. Hands gripping the wheel again, I exhaled heavily, letting my forehead rest against it. “This… this is all my fault. My dad caused all this… and now I can’t figure my life alone.”

My phone buzzed. The caller ID flashed “Dad.” I groaned. Speaking of the devil.

I picked up. “Yes?”

“Where are you?” His voice was cold, commanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

“Is there a problem, Dad?” I asked cautiously.

“I’m on my way to the wedding ground. I need you there before I arrive.”

“Why, Dad? Does it change anything?”

“Yes.”

“…Why?”

“Because I need to be calm everywhere. Everyone in line. You know better than to disobey me, George.”

The call ended before I could respond. My hands trembled slightly. “Fuck… fuck.”

I started the car and drove toward the wedding grounds. The energy in the air was different....calculated, tense. People mingled, exchanged polite greetings, some sipping champagne, some laughing lightly.

Everything was pristine, expensive, but something… cold lingered. This wasn’t a normal wedding vibe. This was mafia wealth disguised as a high-class celebration.

I approached the army of attendants. “Has the bride arrived?”

“Not yet,” a man replied crisply.

I sighed. Called Cierra again. Again, no answer. My nerves frayed, each tick of the clock echoing like a drumbeat in my skull.

Suddenly, the entire gathering stood and began clapping. My father’s convoy had arrived.

Doors opened, men in crisp uniforms emerged, part of the ceremonial entourage. Then… him. My father. For the first time, I truly saw him...not just as a distant figure, but as a commanding presence. He wore a sharp, black velvet suit tailored perfectly to his frame, the silk-lined collar catching the early morning light. A deep burgundy tie accented his pale shirt, cufflinks shining subtly, and polished oxblood shoes completed the look.

For a moment,

I froze.

Why could I never get a fraction of his commanding presence? He walked past me, whispering a quiet, “Good boy,” and I felt small in the shadow of his arrogance.

The ceremony began. The man officiating spoke, words precise, formal, but the energy was cold, calculated. Flowers rained gently from above. Everyone stood. And then....

I turned as the bride walked to meet my dad expecting to see the bride’s daughter, Cierra should be with her since she is the daughter but she was nowhere.

Panic clawed at my chest. Could she be waiting for me? I darted out, asking the driver if anyone named Cierra had arrived. “No,” he said plainly.

I cursed under my breath, pacing. Then, a thought: Blinky wouldn’t miss his best friend’s birthday...or, in this case, wedding prep. That’s it, she has to be there.

I got back in my car and drove back to Cierra’s place. As I approached, relief and dread collided

..the old man was gone. I exhaled shakily and rang the bell once, twice, thrice. Nothing.

I was about to leave when I noticed the back door ajar. Heart hammering, I pushed it open, entering quietly. “Cierra?” I called. “Blinky? Please… come on, baby.”

I climbed the stairs slowly, checking each room, my steps careful. The house was quiet, too quiet. Wedding prep had apparently spanned both houses. I stopped at her room, taking a deep breath, trying to control the rapid pulse in my veins.

My hand brushed against something on the floor. I picked it up....paper, an envelope. My breath caught. Flashbacks hit me: the letter she had swiped down when we… when things got heated between us the night we made out in her room.

I read the front:

“#It’s Mom. Got this letter from the mailman. Go through it to know what’s expected of you at the wedding#'

I paused, thinking. Could she be too busy to answer my calls? Shit. My heart raced.

I dropped it, ready to leave. Then I hesitated. “Fuck… I need to read this. Somehow, An address or clue that could help me find her should be there."

I tore it open, my hands shaking, anticipation and dread intertwining.

The words inside could hold the key...not just to the wedding, but to where she was, why she was avoiding me, and maybe… just maybe… how much I’d been excluded from her plan.

I inhaled sharply. This… could change everything.