Page 10 of A Sinful Gravity

Sloane Reed. Her again.

She stood at my door like nothing had happened, black ponytail pulled high, now wearing a charcoal suit, a professional smile on her lips. That efficient, competent posture, as if last night's half-naked woman never existed.

I didn't want to see her. Not now.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. King," she said evenly, with that manufactured smile. "I'm here to help you prepare your styling and gown for tonight."

"Cassian sent you?" I tried to project authority, but my nails were already digging into my palms.

"Mr. King was concerned about you stressing over tonight's gala, so he specifically instructed me to personally select and prepare your look." As she spoke, she pushed past me, directingpeople to wheel in two racks of gowns. The metallic hangers scraped loudly in the quiet living room.

I watched her without speaking, running through all the reasons I could slam this door shut again.

There were plenty.

But this was Cassian's arrangement. His specific instruction.

If I sent Sloane away now, I'd be telling Cassian I hadn't accepted his morning apology, that I didn't trust him, and shoving us back to square one.

So I stood there silently, watching Sloane move through that pile of silk and lace, nausea churning in my gut.

"How about this one?" Sloane held up a plunging, backless black silk gown. Under the light, the fabric caught with perfect luster.

"This cut hides your thick waist nicely. Very popular with middle-aged society wives."

Thick? Middle-aged? Me? Was she talking about me?

I frowned, swallowing my disgust, and walked over. The moment my fingers touched the fabric, my face went white.

At the neckline, a faint streak of foundation, barely visible unless you looked carefully. Worse, when I took the dress, I caught a smell. Sloane's sickly-sweet, cheap fruit scent now clung aggressively to what should have been my gown.

"These clothes have been worn." I stared at her, voice shaking with cold fury.

Sloane paused, then her lips curved into a knowing smile. She didn't even try to hide it and just leaned in close, lowering her voice near my ear. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I wasn't sure of your size, so... I tried them on first. You don't mind, do you?"

She paused, looking me up and down with subtle mockery.

My blood froze solid in that second.

"Enough. Take this garbage and get out of my sight!" I ripped the dress away, nails white with pressure.

"Ma'am, this is Mr. King's arrangement. If you don't cooperate, I'll have trouble explaining..."

"I said, get out! Now!" Rage stripped away my composure. I screamed, grabbed the pile of clothes, and hurled them to the floor.

Sloane backed up two steps. "I apologize for that. Someone will collect these unsatisfactory gowns later."

She walked to the door, then glanced back with a look that said jealous, abandoned wife.

I wanted to abandon Crawford family elegance and slap that look off her face. But I couldn't.

All I could do was curl up next to that mess, slowly steadying my breathing.

Calm down, Luna. You still have a gala to attend.

The clock struck five. Cassian's driver had arrived.

The Stephen family was hosting the gala at a new venue downtown, a club I'd never visited.