Page 116 of A Sinful Gravity

Girls everywhere in sequined skirts and cat-ear headbands. Me in a hoodie, pink unicorn backpack on my shoulders—totallyout of place. But I felt relaxed. No bodyguards. No endless calls. I hoisted Laila onto my shoulders so she could see over the crowd to the massive stage.

Inside, we found our seats. Laila pulled out glow sticks and handed me one.

"Cassian, hold this. We wave them together."

"Got it."

The lights went down. The music started.

"Cassian! Look! It's Taylor!" Laila screamed, smacking my arm.

The familiar melody kicked in. Thousands of voices sang together, and I felt something electric shoot through me. Innocence. Joy. It radiated off Laila.

She sang along, voice small but fierce. She jumped, waving her hands, like a happy little bird.

I watched her. Bright. Carefree. Eyes full of light. And suddenly I saw what Luna must have been like as a kid—if her mother hadn't forced her to dance, hadn't demanded perfection. She would've been just like this. Laughing. Jumping.

In that moment, I dropped every bit of King family dignity. I waved my glow stick with Laila, shouting lyrics I'd crammed last night.

My voice was rough but free. I'd never yelled like this in my life. I'd been taught to shut up, endure, and protect myself with coldness. But now I was screaming at a concert with a little girl, and my heart felt light as air.

The chaos around us became sacred. I watched Laila's damp hairline, her flushed cheeks, her wild joy.

Endless satisfaction filled me. I wanted this moment to last forever.

When the concert ended,the moon hung over the Washington Monument.

The crowd thinned. The air still buzzed with leftover energy. Laila was tired. I bought her chocolate ice cream, and she ate it while I held her hand, walking toward the parking lot.

"Did you have fun today?" I asked softly, wiping cream off her nose.

"Super fun!" Laila looked up, eyes still sparkling. Then she stopped and stared at me.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" I crouched down to her level.

She bit her lip, voice suddenly small, pure.

"Cassian... I wish you were my real dad. Then I could tell Jenny my dad took me to the concert."

My breath stopped.

My chest felt like someone had shoved a rusty saw inside and started cutting. My throat closed. I couldn't speak.

If I hadn't been so cold that rainy night. If I hadn't been so controlling, so distrustful—maybe Laila would've been my daughter. We could've had countless nights like this.

I pulled her into my arms, trembling.

"Laila... I'm sorry." My voice cracked. "You don't need to envy anyone. If you want, you can think of me as your real dad, okay? I'll always be here. Whenever you need me, I'm here."

Laila patted my back like a little adult and sighed. "Okay. You're bad at bedtime stories, but you're a pretty good 'temporary dad.'"

I held her, afraid to speak, afraid I'd cry.

We got back home earlier than planned.

Laila had fallen asleep in the car, dried tears on her cheeks. I carried her upstairs carefully, laid her in her bed full of stuffed animals, took off her shoes, and tucked her in.

When I was done, I wiped the sweat off my face and headed downstairs for water.