Page 104 of A Sinful Gravity

That bone-deep coldness felt worse than London's harshest winter.

Cassian didn't speak. He just tightened his arms, locking me against his broad, warm chest. Let my tears soak his expensive shirt. Kissed the top of my head softly.

"Her not loving you is her loss. The stupidest thing she'll ever do." He murmured in my ear, his voice carrying unshakable certainty.

"Luna, look at me." He held my shoulders, reaching up to wipe my tears. The gesture was light, careful, like handling something precious. "You deserve to be loved."

"Not because you're a principal. Not because you're useful." He said. "Because you're you. Luna."

I looked at him, trying to speak. Nothing came out.

"From now on, you have me. You have Laila. We'll always have your back."

His words, surging with love, struck something deep in my heart. I collapsed against him, feeling his steady heartbeat like a drum. Gradually calming down.

Something inside me was quietly healing.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cassian

I could feel Luna trembling slightly in my arms.

I bent down and scooped her up. She stiffened, her fingers instinctively clutching my shirt collar, but she didn't push me away.

"Cassian..." Her voice was soft. "I can walk on my own."

"I know," I murmured. "But right now, I want to carry you."

She went quiet, her head resting against my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck. I carried her inside, her fingers tight around the back of my neck, like she needed the anchor.

I looked down at her. The tears had stopped, but her eyes were red-rimmed, lashes still wet with unshed drops.

Inside, I set her on the sofa. She curled up, knees to her chest, like a wounded animal. She huddled in the corner, arms wrapped tight around her legs, staring blankly out the floor-to-ceiling windows at Washington's dull night sky.

I headed to the kitchen, poured a glass of warm water, and added two lemon slices. Not too hot. I handed it to her.

She took it, cradling it in both hands. Her fingertips brushed the warm glass, snapping her back to reality. She shivered faintly.

"Drink some."

She sipped, then just held it, silent. The cup shook in her grip, rippling the water's surface.

I sat beside her. Crickets chirped faintly outside. The living room was so quiet, I could hear the clock ticking on the wall.

"She's gone," I said after a while, pulling her into my arms. "Luna, look at me. She's gone. No one's here to judge you anymore. No one's here to humiliate you."

She gasped like she could finally breathe, her gaze meeting mine before darting away.

"My mom was always like that."

Her voice was faint, like she was talking about a stranger. That tone hit me hard—how many letdowns did it take for someone to talk about their own mother like that?

"When I was three, she signed me up for ballet. Didn't ask if I wanted to. Just told me I had to." She stared at the water in her cup, fingers tracing the rim. "Said it'd make me her pride and joy."

I listened, stayed silent. She didn't need words from me right now. Just my presence.

"I was little. Didn't get what pride meant." Her eyes went distant. "Just knew I couldn't stop. If I didn't win first place, she'd give me this icy stare that could freeze you solid."