Page 108 of A Sinful Gravity

I kissed her forehead, voice distant in the quiet night.

"After this Washington show, let's take Laila to the south of France for a bit?" I said with a genuine smile. "Lavender fields everywhere. No one knows us. I can teach her to ride horses, you can dance in the sun..."

I pictured it unfolding like a painting—the only destination I'd craved in life: a real home.

Luna leaned into me, body rising with each breath. She didn't answer right away. In the dark, she just hugged me tighter, almost desperately, like clinging to the last bit of warmth. Or saying goodbye.

I sensed her unease and held her firmer.

Probably tonight's mess, I told myself.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Luna

The rehearsal hall's AC was cranked up. The wooden floor reeked of years of rosin and sweat. I went through the motions—pliés, relevés—my shoes scraping across the marbled wood, that harsh scratching filling my ears.

My mind kept drifting back to last night.

I kept seeing Mom's hand coming up, that arc through the air, carrying memories of every beating from my childhood.

But this time, I didn't bow my head.

Standing up to her, first came the pain. Then came relief. For the first time, I felt that weight that had crushed me for twenty years finally ease up.

And Cassian... Last night, he'd peeled himself open, showed me what was really inside. I never imagined that man, the one who owned Washington's high society, had been carrying around such a damp, dark, almost pathetic childhood.

Fuck, this world's a joke.

I'd leaned against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Felt that wall between us actually starting to crumble.

That man who'd armored himself in ice, who couldn't even say the word "love"—he'd laid his most vulnerable parts bare in front of me.

I didn't know what kind of courage that took. But I knew it was more honest than any apology could be. It made me see him differently.

I stopped moving, gripping the barre. My stomach turned over.

I thought about Cassian's rigid back as he stood in front of me. About the way Laila's eyes lit up every time she saw him.

These images tangled together like a knotted ball of yarn, strangling my thoughts.

If Laila knew that Cassian, the one who braided her crooked pigtails, was actually the father she'd asked about a hundred times, what would her face look like?

I didn't want to think about it. Because I didn't know if my decision was right. But I knew one thing for certain: I couldn't let Laila get hurt.

I'd go home first. I kicked off my shoes, bare feet on the cold floor, the chill bringing some clarity.

I pushed through the rehearsal hall doors and sucked in fresh air. The sun was fading, stretching my shadow long. Wind stirred up fallen leaves, carrying the city's autumn memories.

Four-thirty. I opened the door to the sound of a man's low laugh.

Cassian had left work early again.

Lately, he'd been coming home with ridiculous frequency, like some regular office worker ditching drinks to spend time with his kid.

I changed my shoes, stood in the entryway, peering through the half-open door.

Cassian sat cross-legged on the thick carpet. His expensive tailored jacket thrown over a chair. Tie yanked crooked.