Page 142 of A Sinful Gravity

Cassian muttered a curse about Chloe. I smacked his side. He raised hands, surrendered.

"I get it now."

"Can you marry?" Laila jumped topics. "Other kids' parents do."

We eyed each other. Spark in his gaze.

"Well," I said, "I'm thinking."

"Okay." Laila nodded. "Take your time. We got forever."

I blinked. Forever—from a five-year-old, light yet heavy.

Cassian grinned at her.

Lights warmed them. Laila's blonde hair matched his under the glow. Her talk, laugh, head tilt—mirror image.

Right then, I finally felt home.

Chapter Thirty

Cassian

A year later in New York, even the air at Lincoln Center seemed to shimmer with artistic electricity.

Neon blazed beyond the windows, but my eyes stayed locked on that closed dressing room door.

This year, I'd watched Luna transform into a swan who'd finally broken free—soaring across the world's most prestigious stages.

From her comeback debut in London's West End to standing ovations at the Paris Opera House, she'd clawed back every lost opportunity with sweat and borderline obsessive determination.

She wasn't that frightened single mom hiding in Washington's shadows anymore. She was Luna Crawford, invited to headline at Lincoln Center, hailed by mainstream media as the "Soul Dancer."

My phone lit up with Marco's financial reports. I swiped past them. These days, I cared less about watching numbers jump than waiting to see if Luna would hit her peak tonight.

The phone rang. I frowned and answered. "This better be urgent."

"You're impossible." Marco let out an exaggerated sigh. "I just wanted to tell you. The funding deal's done."

I straightened. "Good. Send me the final prospectus. I'll look now."

"Only Luna gets you this motivated."

I could practically see him rolling his eyes while hitting send.

"Fine. I'll buy you dinner when I get back." I hung up, smiling, that weight finally lifting off my chest.

I straightened my tie, listening to the faint orchestra warming up out front. That restless energy I'd buried for years surged harder than the day I'd closed my first billion-dollar deal.

The curtain rose. Lights converged.

When the spotlight hit the stage, I stopped breathing.

I was already in the front row of the VIP section, holding little Laila in her cloud of white tulle—she'd refused her own seat and climbed straight into my lap.

The kid stared at the stage, gripping a slightly crooked bouquet of freesias she'd tied herself. Their scent drifted into my nose, faint and sweet.

The moment Luna appeared center stage, the entire theater seemed to lose sound.