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Every whispered conversation and subtle glance seems suspect. Every smile, tainted with undisclosed meanings.
A text message lights up my phone.
It’s from Myles.
Everything on track? Need anything?
I stare at the message, tempted to divulge the cyclone of confusion, doubts, and fears swirling inside me. But I refrain. This isn’t her burden to bear. Even if she and London are close.
So, instead, I type back, the lie heavy on my fingertips.
All good.
Over the next hour, the final aspects of our setup are completed, and every detail is in place …
Yet the masterpiece feels incomplete.
It’s a symphony missing its lead violinist. A painting lacking its final stroke of brush. London’s absence is a void, echoing in the silent corners of the room.
The clock on the wall chimes 8:00 p.m.
It’s time.
“Are you ready for this?” Stefanie asks, a hint of a smile floating to her dainty features.
I nod. “I think so.”
“Are you alright?" she questions, her expression shifting to concern.
"Yeah, just ... pre-event jitters, I guess," I reply, trying to give a convincing smile.
She doesn't seem entirely convinced but nods nonetheless. "You've done a wonderful job here, Lily. Just breathe. Everything will go off without a hitch. Just you watch.”
I nod, appreciative of her kind words, though they do little to quell the storm of uncertainty inside me. The weight of today, the unspoken words between London and me, the physical distance that feels like miles at this point—it's all a heavy burden.
With a final tip of her chin, Stefanie heads downstairs to open the doors.
I find myself ready to survey the incoming crowd, but hoping to catch a glimpse of London.
But first, the reveal.
The unveiling of a reimagined Upper Tier, an experience that promises an odyssey of sensual discovery is about to unfold. I’ve poured my soul into this, yet the pride is dulled by the shadow of the morning, and the silence that looms large between London and me.
Just down the hallway, where guest will be having their own adventures, I had mine with London.
That moment feels so far away.
Was it really just last night?
The staff, all prepped and polished, look to me for the signal.
I nod, the cue to usher in a night of decadence. The doors swing open, and the first of the patrons step inside.
The reaction is immediate—a collective gasp, eyes widening as Stefanie announces what’s to come and asks each of the guests to find a mask.
Compliments and awe filter through the air, yet each word of praise feels hollow without London by my side to share in this moment of triumph.
I stand back, somewhat in the shadows, as the room fills. There’s a dazzling dance of lights and shadows, mystery and revelation, but the absence of one person tinges every success with an undertone of melancholy. Every accolade, every exclamation of wonder, is a reminder of the silent space between us, widening with each passing moment.
