Page 113 of A Sinful Gravity

I double-checked Laila's backpack. "Shit, where'd I put the wipes?"

I cursed under my breath, fumbling to pack her little unicorn backpack. Water bottle. Crackers. Those strawberry lollipops she loved. Even a spare jacket—just in case it got cold tonight.

I moved quietly into the kitchen and started breakfast.

Laila's strawberry sandwich first—crusts off, cream cheese, strawberries sliced thin and layered just right, pressed gently, cut diagonally.

Then scrambled eggs and pasta for Luna and me. Coffee.

When everything was ready, I sat on the couch with a newspaper. But my eyes kept drifting upstairs.

Ten-thirty. Movement.

Luna came down first. Practice clothes, hair pulled high, neck exposed. She saw the breakfast spread and stopped.

"Morning... you made this?"

"Yeah. Strawberry sandwich for Laila. Eggs and coffee for you."

A small smile. She sat and started eating. I stayed in the kitchen, pretending to clean up but really just watching the clock.

Then footsteps upstairs. Laila's voice, sleepy and sweet. "Mommy? Where are you?"

"Downstairs."

Little feet pattered down. Laila appeared at the landing—hair wild, pillow creases on her cheek, eyes bright as hell.

"Cassian!" She ran over. "Good morning!"

"Morning." I crouched down. "Eat up, then we're going to get you all dolled up—full princess treatment."

She grinned, showing her little canines.

After breakfast, I helped Laila with her shoes. Luna leaned against the doorframe, watching.

"You sure you don't need the driver?" Her voice carried something searching, a quiet worry.

"No. I promised Laila. Just the two of us today." I hoisted the ridiculous pink backpack onto my shoulder and turned to her. "I'll keep her safe, Luna. I could get lost, and she'd still come home without a scratch."

I stepped closer and kissed her forehead. She stiffened for a second, then slowly relaxed.

"Come home early. Don't give her too much ice cream—her stomach's sensitive."

"Yes, ma'am." I smiled, feeling something warm and unfamiliar surge through my chest.

I turned to Laila. "Let's go, Princess."

I took her soft little hand, and we got in the car. When the door closed and it was just the two of us, panic hit me hard.

Jesus Christ, Cassian, get it together. You've handled cutthroat board meetings, impossible politicians—now you're just taking a kid to a concert.

But I couldn't calm down. Luna had always been there before, a buffer, a safety net.

Now that safety net was gone. I had to handle Laila's emotions, her needs, all those "dad skills" I hadn't fully learned yet.

The car rolled smoothly through Washington's streets. Laila hummed in the backseat. I watched her in the rearview mirror—her little face so much like Luna's, so pure in the sunlight.

The first time I saw Laila, a wild thought took root in my mind like poison ivy.