Chapter 2: The New wife

George stood still, as if the words had knocked the breath out of him. “New... wife?” he echoed, barely able to form the words.

Emily gave a short nod, brushing past Luna and walking toward the front door with the same grace she'd always possessed only now it felt colder, like the edge of a blade.

“You can’t just drop something like that and leave, Emily!” George snapped, his voice cracking as reality finally began to settle in.

She turned slowly, eyes like ice. “I already told you. This is temporary. Luna will take care of you while I’m gone but try to have fun while at it.”

George looked between the two women. Emily, his wife, was poised, distant. Luna, on the other hand, stood perfectly still, her long coat brushing her calves, her suitcase by her side like an emblem of permanence.

“Take care of me?” George said, his confusion boiling over. “What does that even mean? Is this some kind of joke?”

Luna finally spoke. Her voice was calm, soft, and disturbingly composed. “I’m not here to replace her, George. I’m here… under contract.”

George blinked. “What contract?”

Emily sighed, already tired of explaining. “It’s complicated. All you need to know is that she’ll stay here as your wife publicly, at least. It’ll keep people from asking questions. I’ve thought this through.”

“You thought this through, but didn’t think I deserved to be part of the decision?” His voice rose with every word. “You just vanish and send in a replacement like I’m some... chore?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you more than I already have,” Emily said flatly. “And I knew you’d never agree to it willingly.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t,” he muttered.

Silence thickened between them. Luna didn’t speak. She simply stood there, observing without judgment.

Emily stepped to the door and opened it. The cold air from outside crept in like a warning.

“I’ll be in touch,” she said, then walked out without so much as a glance back.

And just like that, she was gone.

The door clicked shut. The silence that followed was deafening.

George stood in place, every nerve on fire. His wife had just walked out of his life. Not forever, she claimed but with no promise that she'd ever return the same.

And now, a stranger was walking in.

Luna stepped forward and gently placed her suitcase by the staircase. “I understand this is difficult,” she said quietly, her voice almost too delicate to be real. “But I’m not here to make your life harder.”

George turned sharply to face her. “Who are you, really?”

She looked at him, eyes deep and unreadable. “Just someone who agreed to help for reasons of her own.”

She moved past him with effortless elegance and began walking up the stairs, her footsteps soft against the hardwood. There was something unnerving about how calm she was as if none of this was out of the ordinary.

George collapsed onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. Everything he knew had shifted in a matter of minutes. Questions chased each other in his head like a storm: Who was Luna? What was in this so-called contract? What kind of person agrees to pretend to be someone’s wife?

He stood suddenly, driven by instinct more than logic, and walked to the staircase.

“Wait,” he called.

Luna stopped at the top step and turned, her hand resting lightly on the banister.

“I don’t care what kind of arrangement this is,” he said. “But don’t expect me to just accept it.”

She nodded. “I wouldn’t.”

He was caught off guard by her answer.

“But I’m not here to convince you,” she added. “Only to honor the deal we both agreed to.”

“I didn’t agree to anything.”

“Then maybe it’s time you ask yourself why she thought she had to do this without you.” Luna spite.

That stopped him.

With a final glance, Luna disappeared down the hallway toward the guest bedroom. George stood at the foot of the stairs, chilled and not just by the winter air.

Hours later

George sat at the kitchen table, the untouched mug of coffee in front of him long gone cold. The mansion, usually echoing with Emily’s piano or her voice down the halls, felt like a mausoleum now.

He’d checked Luna’s suitcase. It was full of simple, elegant clothes, a few books, a black notebook, and a contract with Emily’s signature.

No name for Luna on the cover. Just:

CONTRACT AGREEMENT – TEMPORARY DOMESTIC PARTNER

Clause after clause detailed living arrangements, public appearances, press discretion, and emotional boundaries. He barely made it halfway through before slamming it shut.

Who the hell was this woman?

He crept toward the guest room. The door was cracked open. Inside, Luna was seated by the window, her back to him, staring out at the snowy garden. She was humming something low melancholy and haunting.

He left without a word.

For now, all he had were questions.

And a stranger living in his home, sleeping down the hall wearing the title of “wife.”

But the one person who had all the answers… had already walked out the door.