Chapter 7: Taking control

The apartment felt like a void, the echoes of Luna’s departure humming in the air, jarring against the heavy silence. George turned back to the window, wrestling with the grasping tendrils of despair. Outside, the city was a monochrome tapestry of white and gray, snow gently falling but the world still strangely vibrant. It felt surreal, as if it were mocking him—this peaceful scene while his life unraveled.

Emily had taken with her not just her presence but the very essence of his reality. They’d built a life together, piece by painstaking piece: laughter shared over coffee in the mornings, late-night discussions about everything and nothing, the secrets whispered in the dark. Their love had been his anchor, and now he felt adrift.

He was uncertain how long he stood there, watching the snowflakes spiral down, each one a tiny reminder of her absence. The warmth of the bourbon in Luna’s glass had faded, leaving only the chill of the apartment seeping into his thoughts. He turned his gaze from the window, reluctantly acknowledging the mess of his life sprawled around him.

A flash of anger surfaced. She had planned this, every detail, every silence. What kind of love was that? The thought sank in like an anchor, dragging him deeper into confusion. Could she have actually cared for him if she could vanish so easily?

He remembered her eyes—the brightness they held that now felt like a distant memory. “She wanted control,” Luna had said. The revelation resonated with a disturbing clarity. Control over him. Over her own life. But at what cost?

The wedding. It settled heavily in the pit of his stomach. He had never imagined a day would come when he might stand before another woman in a tuxedo, offering vows that felt like a hollow shell of the love they once held. What kind of wedding was this? What kind of life was waiting for him now?

He shook his head, forcing himself to gather his thoughts. The haze of uncertainty was suffocating, but Luna's words lingered in the corners of his mind, stubborn against the encroaching darkness. Stop grieving and start thinking.

He turned away from the window, shaking off the remnants of despondency. He had to act. If Emily was truly gone, if she intended to reshape her life without him, then he had to find out why and how. And for that, he needed to put on a mask—the one he wore in the light of day, not the one drenched in shadows.

He moved to his bedroom, the echoes of Luna's assertion about how he had never really been there still ringing in his ears. He rummaged through his wardrobe, pulling out the suit he’d worn to countless events, the one that always felt tight around the edges. It felt foreign, like someone else's skin. But he needed its armor now, the appearance of togetherness even if it played against his storm of emotions.

As he donned the jacket, fastening the buttons with precision, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. The reflection staring back seemed like a stranger. But beneath the facade was a flicker of resolve, an ember rekindling amidst a dwindling flame.

It was time. Time to confront whatever she was planning. Time to understand her in ways he hadn’t before. Perhaps the void she left was not just one of absence but also of awareness. Maybe this was about more than grief; it was about finding clarity.

With one last glance in the mirror, he grabbed his phone. The world outside his apartment may have been draped in snow, its quiet delivering weights of loss—but this would not be the end.

He dialed a number, searching for a connection, an ally in what felt like a distant battlefield. He would need to prepare himself for whatever lay ahead. Not just for the wedding, but for the unraveling of the truth behind Emily's disappearance.

“Luna,” he said when she answered. “I’m in. What’s first?”