Page 121 of A Sinful Gravity

I thought I'd feel relief. So why did it feel like something had been carved from my chest? My throat was so tight I couldn't even cry.

I stumbled back to the dressing room, collapsing at the vanity. The woman in the mirror looked pale, eyes red.

Had I won?

I'd successfully hidden the truth for six years, kept Laila, and successfully wounded the man who'd hurt me.

Then why, watching him leave, couldn't I breathe for the pain?

Tears fell like broken pearls, splashing on the cold vanity.

Maybe leaving really was the best ending. After enduring so much, paying such a price to get here, I couldn't survive another emotional rollercoaster.

But Laila's smiling face flashed through my mind. Fear surged. Was I doing the right thing?

No. I'd done what had to be done. Besides, second-guessing was pointless now. What's done was done. And I'd never go crawling back to him—that wasn't who I was.

Since I'd chosen this path, I'd make it work. This wasn't my first crisis.

This past month could be a beautiful dream. Dreams always end.

I sat there a long time, staring blankly at the mirror. Finally, I breathed deep, swallowing the tears.

Enough. I couldn't keep falling apart—Laila needed me, my career needed maintaining, life couldn't keep disintegrating.

I didn't know what a shattered Cassian might do. The way he'd looked terrified me.

Since I'd decided to leave, I needed to sever everything quickly.

I opened my phone, found Amy's contact.

My fingers shook as I typed, "Chicago, I can go early."

Chapter Twenty-Six

Cassian

I was a fucking joke.

I'd bent over backward trying to make Luna happy, even accepted that Laila wasn't mine. But she'd been planning her escape from day one.

And damn it, the thought of losing Luna and Laila ripped through my chest like a blade.

I didn't go home.

Was it even home? That house where I'd lived with Luna and Laila for over a month—it was never mine. Never had been. I was just some guy crashing there, a stranger they let get close.

I pulled onto the main road and drove. No destination. The lights outside streaked across the glass, too bright, cutting into my eyes. My head kept replaying the scene—Luna in the dance studio, back against the wall, fighting to keep the tears from falling.

She'd said, "I'm leaving."

The steering wheel slipped in my grip. I jerked it hard, the car lurching onto a side street. Tires scraped the curb, screaming. I stopped, collapsed over the wheel, gasping.

Laila was my daughter. And I'd known nothing.

When I started the car again, I found myself outside that house. Through the first-floor window, I could see the living room light still on.

I sat in the car, staring at that window.