Page 143 of A Sinful Gravity

She moved like wind you couldn't catch—every leap, every turn carrying the tension of a butterfly breaking from its cocoon.

I watched her glow under the spotlight, watched her slender but powerful body carve perfect arcs through the air.

In that moment, I felt genuine gratitude—grateful that a year ago, before that accident, I'd pushed her away and learned to let go. Otherwise, I would have destroyed this light bright enough to cut through darkness.

"Daddy, Mommy's flying!" Laila shouted, then realized how quiet it was and squeezed my sleeve excitedly, voice dropping to a whisper.

"Yes. She's flying." My throat felt hot.

This year, I hadn't missed a single major performance.

Whether in Vienna or Tokyo, I always sat in the audience with Laila.

I stopped bursting backstage to mark my territory. Now I just sent her favorite flowers after the curtain call, then watched from a distance as she celebrated with her company, basking in glory that belonged to her.

Watching her onstage, what filled my chest wasn't twisted possession anymore—it was something close to reverence.

She was my love. But more than that, she was herself. The most brilliant dancer I'd ever known.

When Luna hit the climax, Laila jumped down and pressed against the front rail to watch closer. Today she wore a custom white lace dress—a miniature version of Luna's Swan Lake costume.

I looked at Laila's skirt, at the dimples that appeared when she smiled, then turned back to Luna onstage. My chest felt full to bursting.

Light poured over Luna. She looked utterly lost in it. Spinning, leaping—then after one final grand jeté, she collapsed to the floor.

One second. Two seconds... The audience sat silent briefly, then erupted into thunderous applause. People stood, shouting praise, tossing flowers onstage. I saw some still caught in the spell of the dance, quietly wiping tears.

I watched the woman surrounded by spotlight and flowers and adulation, and what rose in my chest wasn't the urge to drag her back into a dark room—it was proud, blissful pride.

Luna was taking her bows. She folded gracefully, her long neck carving a tragic arc.

When she lifted her head and her gaze found me among thousands, she raised an eyebrow with playful challenge. "See, Cassian? I'm amazing."

I mouthed back silently, "You're the best."

She smiled. That smile outshone the Austrian crystal chandeliers overhead. Laila couldn't contain herself anymore, waving her freesias and shouting for Mommy.

That everyday family warmth, fermenting inside this solemn temple of art, created something secretly sweet called happiness.

I stood, taking Laila's hand toward backstage. The curtain had fallen, but the artistic aftershock still trembled in the air, making my heart race.

I'd planned to find Luna directly, but after getting a message, I changed direction.

I had my assistant take Laila for the ice cream she'd been dying for, then turned and walked into the VIP reception room backstage.

Davis from the Lincoln Arts Foundation was waiting.

"Cassian, regarding this investment in the Royal Ballet—we've finalized the details." Davis shook my hand and pointed to a contract clause. "King Group takes thirty percent equity but zero involvement in artistic decisions. This money's enough to establish three world-class rehearsal facilities. But... you really don't want her to know this is your money?"

"No need." My answer was flat, my gaze drifting to New York's night sky beyond the window. "This reflects her abilities. Any investor would see massive returns."

"But this is two hundred million with no strings attached," Davis teased. "You're not doing business—you're worshiping your goddess."

I was about to respond when something rustled behind the door.

I turned. Luna stood there gripping the doorframe. She hadn't changed out of her white feathered costume yet. Fresh off stage, tiny beads of sweat clung to her nose, her cheeks flushed pink.

Her eyes fell on the open contract, joy fading slightly as her brow furrowed. "Mr. Davis, when you said 'King Group'... you mean Cassian's project?"