Page 144 of A Sinful Gravity

The atmosphere shifted instantly. I could feel Luna's displeasure—not anger, but a quiet sense of betrayal.

Davis read the room and excused himself, closing the door behind him.

"Cassian, this is what you call 'support'?" Luna walked in, her pointe shoes clicking against the wood floor. She stood before me, arms crossed, her posture blade-straight from years of training.

"I thought Lincoln Center reached out because they valued my artistry. Turns out my 'benefactor' was pulling strings behind the scenes all along?"

Her eyes reddened. That hurt of being underestimated made her unbearably vulnerable.

I didn't rush to explain. Instead, I stepped forward, reaching for her waist. She tried to dodge, but I gripped her shoulders stubbornly, pulling her toward the desk.

"Luna, don't convict me yet." I pulled out another document from the drawer—over a hundred pages of business background checks and market projections.

"Look at this first. My data analysis team put this together. If you were just a pretty face, my board would've torn me apart by now."

I flipped to a page and pointed at the curve. "Look, since your London debut, global classical arts market attention jumped twelve points. Your personal brand value tripled in six months. For this funding contract, Davis approached three banks. I had to outbid them all to win it."

I leaned closer, our breaths mingling, my voice low and focused. "I'm a businessman too, Luna. I invested in you because the 'Crawford Effect' brings premium brand endorsement to mycompany. If I didn't invest, others would be lining up. But I'm greedy. I don't like giving away sure bets."

Luna stared at the professional data and cold reports, her wariness gradually dissolving. She was smart. She could see the substance here.

"So you really think... I'm that good?" She looked up, her tone softening with unintentional pride, eyes bright.

"You deserve more than this." I reached out, my fingertips brushing the damp hair at her temple with utmost tenderness. "This is just business, Luna. I love you, but I respect your career. I won't use money to buy your freedom."

Luna looked at me, then suddenly laughed. In that moment, all misunderstanding and distance seemed to melt.

"Cassian, can you even talk without a negotiating table?" She glared playfully but leaned into my embrace anyway.

I circled her impossibly slender waist. This hug—public yet intimate—made my heart skip.

Her scent—faint sweat mixed with expensive stage makeup—was the most intoxicating thing in the world to me.

I felt myself tighten below.

"Thank you," she said softly, forehead pressed to my chest, listening to my drumming heartbeat. "Thank you for choosing to stand beside me and move forward together."

She lifted her head on her own, her long neck drawing a tempting line, and kissed me.

I didn't waste the opportunity. I cupped the back of her head and deepened the kiss. In Lincoln Center's quiet VIP room, beside contracts worth hundreds of millions, I felt her warmth and passion.

Her hands climbed to my shoulders, fingers pressing hard enough to wrinkle my custom suit, while I wanted nothing but to pull her into my bones.

"You're my greatest pride," I murmured against her lips, voice rough and barely audible.

I wasn't satisfied with just her lips—I moved down her neck, making her tremble.

"Okay, stop. Laila's waiting for us outside." When I reached her stomach, Luna pushed me away, blushing, fussing with her disheveled feathered skirt.

"Wait, Luna." I caught her hand, my heartbeat suddenly out of control. "One more thing. The director said there's a lighting adjustment onstage that needs your final approval. Just five minutes. They're worried about the next show."

She frowned skeptically. "Now? This late?"

But the determination in my eyes kept her from refusing. I took her hand and led her through the historic curtain, back onto the stage that had just held thousands of eyes.

The stage was empty and sacred now, lit only by a few work lights casting dim glows. But the moment we reached center stage, the dark theater suddenly transformed.

Countless golden, warm spotlights blazed to life, converging into one massive circle with us at its center. Red rose petals covered the floor—a miracle dozens of crew members had accomplished in ten minutes.