Page 106 of A Sinful Gravity

She stared as I set it on the coffee table.

"This..."

"Junk food." I sat, popped the lid, scooped some, and handed it over. "Stuff you wanted as a kid but couldn't have."

She took the spoon, tasted it. Her eyes lit up a bit. Subtle—lips curved, brows lifted, like a spark ignited.

"Good?"

She nodded, dug in faster, less hesitant.

I scooped some too. We sat there, eating ice cream, crunching chips now and then.

The room was quiet, just spoons clinking and chewing. Moonlight streamed in, bathing everything in calm.

"So good. Mom only bought me a cone when she was in a good mood." I stared at the melting scoop, memories dragging me back to that damp, dim childhood.

"You as a kid," she said, mouth full of ice cream. "They didn't let you have this either?"

I froze, spoon mid-air.

"You've probably heard. I'm a bastard."

She stopped, looked at me.

I smiled faintly, took a deep breath.

Then leaned back, ripping open my polished, unbreakable shell for the first time to anyone but Chloe.

"My mom was a single mom." I scooped ice cream but didn't eat, staring at the white blob. "Not the strong, independent kind. She waited for that man—my dad—to claim her, marry her."

I didn't know why I spilled it. Maybe the night's raw honesty. Maybe her confession made me owe one.

She set her spoon down, hand on my thigh.

"My dad, Robert King. Big shot in American business, you know." I held her hand, our warmth mixing. "He had his real wife, his real kids. Mom was just a fling he remembered sometimes. Once or twice a year, a few hours, then gone. After, she'd sit by the window, staring till dark."

Luna said nothing, just squeezed my hand.

"Neighborhood kids pointed, called me 'the homewrecker's son.' Mom heard, just hugged me and cried, told me to endure. Said if I was good, excelled, Dad would take us home."

I let out a bitter laugh, the taste seeping from my bones.

"Till the end, on her deathbed, she begged to see him."

"He didn't come. The day she died, he was at a charity gala with his wife. I stood by her bed, holding her hand, watching her go cold. She never got him."

Luna's eyes reddened. She listened quietly.

"Then they took me into the King family. But the torment there was worse than the slums."

My voice roughened. I leaned forward and set the ice cream down.

"Stuff went missing. Room trashed. Sometimes no food left for me. Once, a dead rat was in my backpack."

"Assholes..." she whispered.

"Eventually, I stopped caring," I said. "They messed with me, I hit back, even if Robert might kill me. They backed off. I stopped talking much."