Chapter 6 - The Madwoman’s Investigation
Willow didn't return to the gala dinner.
Inside her private penthouse penthouse suite overlooking the bay, broken crystal vases and shredded floral arrangements littered the floor. Makoto Wang stood nervously near the double doors, clutching a glass of water like a frightened child.
""Willow, babe, the press is having a field day with what happened in the lobby,"" Makoto ventured cautiously. ""They’re saying you have an obsession with Audrey Chen’s new husband. My manager says we need to issue a statement denying you know him—""
""Shut up,"" she hissed, her voice trembling with an unhinged ferocity that made him instantly swallow his words.
Willow sat on the edge of her bed, her phone screen illuminating her pale, frantic face. She had spent the last six hours forcing her private investigators to tear George’s life apart. But what she found terrified her to her very bones.
The bank accounts George had used to send her monthly allowances had been closed forty-eight hours after the awards gala. His rented apartment was completely cleared out—not a single shirt, photograph, or notebook remained. When her investigator contacted the municipal hospital, he retrieved a document that made Willow’s hands shake so violently she dropped the device.
It was a medical discharge certificate dated the exact night of her film awards ceremony.
Diagnosis: Acute multiorgan failure secondary to chronic systemic poisoning and extreme physical exhaustion.
Time of clinical death declared: 00:01 AM.
Body released to: Anonymous Medical Research Foundation.
""He died?"" Willow whispered, her pupils contracting into pinpricks. ""No. That's impossible. He was standing right in front of me! He looked healthier than he ever did when he was with me!""
She remembered the way George used to look at her—with warmth, with an almost pathetic gentleness, always waiting outside her dance studios with warm ginger tea in the freezing rain. But tonight, his eyes were dead. There was no hatred, no resentment, no lingering affection. He had looked at her the exact way people look at roadkill.
A frantic, sickening panic seized her chest. Willow reached into her bedside drawer, pulling out an old wooden box she had hidden away for years. Inside were dozens of small handwritten notes George had left over seven years: recipes for her migraines, reminders to take her iron pills, schedules for her auditions.
May you like
On the bottom of the last note, written seven days before his disappearance, were eight words: I tried my best. Live well without me.
She dropped to her knees among the shards of broken crystal, her fingers bleeding as she clutched the yellowing paper. ""No... no, no, no. You promised you would stay with me forever. You swore to me, George!""
