Page 11 of A Sinful Gravity

Black luxury cars lined the entrance like a silent announcement of the price of admission.

I stepped out of the car and slowed on the steps, adjusting my expression to something unhurried and graceful.

Relax, Luna. You've done this a thousand times.

I pushed through the glass doors, leaving the cool night breeze behind.

The moment I entered the ballroom, bright lights swallowed me whole.

I tilted my head up. A massive crystal chandelier hung from the center ceiling, countless crystal drops refracting light across walls and floors, making the whole space shimmer with moving, fragmented brilliance—pure opulence, like standing inside a breathing jewelry box.

Curved columns flanked both sides in three rows each, alcoves between them filled with fresh flowers. Their subtlefragrance mixed with perfume and champagne, and near the edges, large bronze-colored steel panels.

I glanced at my reflection as I passed. The woman in the mirror was tall, spine straight, dress simple but not without charm. I didn't like fussy styles. This dress was from two seasons ago, maybe dated, but I could compensate in other ways.

But approaching the crowd, I felt eyes on me.

"Is that Luna Crawford? The Crawford daughter? Cassian's wife?"

I switched my clutch to the other hand and straightened my spine further.

The voices came from my left rear. Two women, one deliberately lowered but just loud enough to reach me.

"What is she... what is she wearing today?" The other voice lifted with that gleeful mockery. "That dress, is it from two seasons ago? Or three?"

My fingers tightened on the clutch. They'd recognized me.

"How tacky. I really don't understand why Cassian chose her." The lowered voice rose slightly, both sets of eyes burning into my back.

"Well, she's from the Crawford family. I heard she used to be a ballet dancer, but looking at this..."

I kept walking. They weren't the point of this gala. Before seeing Cassian, I needed to adapt.

While searching for Cassian, I passed near a column where a couple stood—business associates of his. The husband was James Taylor, and his wife, Laura, wore a champagne-colored gown from the latest Paris collection, covered in dreamy, delicate sequins.

I stopped. "Mr. Taylor, Mrs. Taylor, how nice to see you both."

James nodded politely, while Laura's gaze swept across my dress and paused.

"Oh, Luna, it's been ages. We missed you at the last two galas."

"I wasn't feeling well recently." I smiled graciously and raised my glass in toast. "You look even more beautiful."

"Thank you, you too. We'll catch up later." She sipped her wine lightly, then took James's arm and brushed past me.

I heard her voice, tinged with pity. "Poor woman. James, have you noticed how Cassian treats Luna lately?"

James made no sound. Probably shaking his head.

"Last gala, Cassian brought that secretary of his. And giving Luna an outdated dress this time, so unseemly..."

They moved away, crowd noise swallowing their words.

Standing in the lights, I suddenly felt dizzy. Last gala? When?

I steadied myself against the wall, breathing deep. I couldn't lose it here.

I straightened my spine—a dying swan clinging to the last shred of dignity—and scanned the crowd for Cassian, finally spotting him in the most prominent booth.