Chapter 8: A vow in shadows

The dial tone pulsed like a heartbeat in George’s ear, steady, unyielding, demanding. He had rehearsed the words in his mind a hundred times, as if repetition might conjure up the courage he no longer recognized in himself.

“I’m in,” he said, the phrase catching in his throat but slipping out too easily. Too willingly.

There was a pause. Then Luna’s voice flowed through the receiver, low and cool, unshaken.

“Good,” she replied, not a hint of surprise in her tone. “I didn’t think you’d stay on the sidelines for long.”

He exhaled slowly, his breath hitching with uncertainty. Was it a relief? Or was it resignation? Maybe it was both an exhausted surrender to the chaos he could no longer control.

“What now?” he asked, his voice raw.

Luna didn’t answer right away. There were sounds in the background: the rustle of papers, the soft clink of a wine glass being set down, the subtle crackle of fire from the hearth in her apartment. Familiar, intimate noises. They grounded him more than they should have. Life was still happening elsewhere, untouched by his storm.

He stood in the middle of his living room, surrounded by silence so thick it felt like a second skin. Deep down, he knew there was no moving on from Emily. His world had ended the moment she left. And yet, here he was, choosing a detour through someone else’s plan, clinging to the desperate hope that walking Luna’s path would somehow lead him back to the woman he truly loved.

But the way “I’m in” had rolled off his tongue disturbed him. It sounded too natural. Too final. As if some part of him had been waiting to give in all along.

And now, there will be a wedding tomorrow. A wedding he never dreamed of. A union devoid of love, of desire, of joy.

He climbed the stairs slowly, feet heavy with the weight of invisible chains, until he stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom. The man staring back at him wasn’t the George everyone else knew. This version was hollow. Fragile.

His eyes were bloodshot, dark crescents carved beneath them like bruises. His hair was unkempt. His jaw stubbled. He hadn’t slept in days not really. And even the sleeping pills had failed to drown the noise in his head.

He touched the mirror lightly, his fingers brushing his own reflection. “Who the hell are you now?” he whispered.

Like every other night, sleep refused to visit. He lay in bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling as if the cracks there held the answers he lacked. But all he found was silence. Loud, unforgiving silence. It crawled through the room, coiling around his limbs, nestling in the empty space beside him where Emily used to sleep.

Every tick of the clock was a cruel reminder that time was still marching on. That tomorrow, he’d stand beside another woman and make vows he didn’t believe in.

Sometime before dawn, George rose. The sky was beginning to fade from pitch black to blue, the house draped in the stillness of early morning. Downstairs, the light in the hallway flickered slightly as he passed, and for a second, he wondered if the universe itself was hesitant about what he was about to do.

He opened his wardrobe and stared blankly at the rows of suits. Most were still pristine, the tags untouched. The choices of a man who once lived in boardrooms, who once debated shades of blue before mergers. That man was a ghost now.

He ran his fingers over the fabric and pulled out a black suit. Tailored, sleek, elegant. It was the one Emily had gifted him on his birthday the year before.

“You look irresistibly dangerous,” she’d whispered that night, pressing a kiss to his collar.

Now, the same suit felt like a costume. Armor, maybe. He wasn’t wearing it for love today. He was wearing it to bury something.

As he dressed, buttoning his shirt with trembling hands, he called Nathan.

“I need you at the courthouse. Luna sent the location. I need a witness,” he said, his voice colder than he intended.

Nathan paused. “Understood, sir,” came the curt reply. Loyal as ever, but George could detect the edge of confusion in his tone.

By 10 a.m., the streets of New York were stirring to life. The city bustled as if it didn’t care what was about to happen in one of its sterile buildings. But for George, every movement felt exaggerated. Slowed. Like he was wading through water.

His driver didn’t ask questions. They never did. George stared out the window in silence as they weaved through traffic. Billboards passed in a blur, people moved with purpose, their laughter and shouting muffled by the glass.

At a red light, he caught a glimpse of a couple walking hand in hand. The woman was laughing, her head thrown back with joy, and her partner looked at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world.

It should have been Emily.

When they pulled up outside the courthouse, George took a deep breath before stepping out. The building loomed before him modern, sharp-edged, lifeless. The kind of place where business happens. Not love.

And then he saw her.

Luna stood at the bottom of the courthouse steps, framed by the gray stone and the cold morning light. She wore a sleek ivory dress not quite a wedding gown, but elegant, precise, deliberate. Her dark hair had been swept to one side, revealing the delicate slope of her neck and a pair of gold earrings that caught the light like tiny flames.

She looked beautiful. Regal. Untouchable.

For a second, George’s breath caught in his throat.

But she didn’t smile.

Of course not. Luna never smiled unless she was closing a deal.

“You’re late,” she said, her voice smooth and sharp like a cut crystal.

“I’m here,” George replied. It was the best he could manage.

“You clean up well,” she added, eyeing the suit with approval.

“And you look… prepared,” he said, jaw tight.

Nathan joined them silently, offering a respectful nod. George noted the flicker of discomfort in his eyes. He wasn’t the only one who felt the weight of what they were doing.

Inside, the air was sharp with disinfectant, the walls a bland gray, the atmosphere hollow. They signed forms. Stood before a tired registrar. There were no flowers. No music. Just legalities.

“Do you, George , take Luna West…”

He said “I do” as though it meant nothing. Because to him, it did.

Luna’s hand was steady as she slid the ring onto his finger a thin band of gold, as cold as it was final. He resisted the urge to pull away.

No kisses. No pictures. No applause. Just signatures and silence.

As they stepped back out into the daylight, the wind picked up slightly. George paused on the steps, staring at the sky. Nothing had changed. The world hadn’t noticed.

But something inside him had shifted.

“You didn’t have to dress up like that,” he said, voice low. “You know this isn’t real.”

Luna turned to him, her expression unreadable. “This is real, George. Accept it. I’m your wife now.”

That word. Wife.

It clanged around in his chest like a death knell.

It should have been Emily. It was always supposed to be her.

But now, he wore a ring that said otherwise.

He looked at Luna again truly looked. She was beautiful. Strong. Calculated. But she was not the woman he loved.

“What happens now?” he asked, the hollow ache in his chest expanding.

Luna smiled faintly, her eyes glittering. “Now, we live like every other married couple.”

George said nothing. He couldn’t. His voice had left him the moment he signed the paper.

As they descended the steps side by side, the illusion of normalcy clung to them like smoke.

But beneath it, the ashes of something else still smoldered.

Something that refused to die quietly.