Page 27 of A Sinful Gravity

Right. I had to contact her first. I grabbed my phone and dialed frantically. Once. Ten times. Twenty times.

"Sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service."

I buried my face in my palms, like a drowning man.

I tore up the agreement, shredded it to pieces, as if that could make everything unhappen. But when those fragments fell to the floor, each one seemed to spell "Luna," each one mocking me.

I suddenly realized—aside from this house, I didn't know where else she could go. I'd never cared.

Sloane!

I shot up, brain spinning from dizziness. I steadied myself against the wall. Her. This was all because of her!

I felt like I'd grasped the most important clue. I stood up abruptly, head spinning from the sudden movement and emotion, but I couldn't care about that now.

Grabbing my car keys, I ran down the steps, then suddenly thought of Luna's accident last night as I turned the key.

She was so timid. She must have been terrified. When I found her, I'd make it up to her properly.

"Pull up two surveillance videos for me. Right now." I made a call.

I took one last look at those swaying white flowers, then floored it out of there.

At the office,I had Sloane called in. Then I stared at the surveillance footage on my computer screen. With every second, my blood ran colder.

Sloane walked in, makeup flawless, not a crack showing. She even smiled, holding documents. "Mr. King, today's meeting—"

"Put it down." My voice was calm. Calm like the ocean before a storm. "Sloane Reed, who gave you permission?"

Her smile stiffened briefly but recovered immediately. "I don't understand what you mean."

I slammed the tablet in front of her—the balcony footage of her "being pushed." And outside the private room, her blocking Luna's way, that necklace clear as day in the frame.

Her expression finally cracked. She pressed her lips together, silent.

"Explain," I said. "That necklace. When did I tell you to wear it around your own neck?"

Her eyes instantly reddened, tears welling, voice turning aggrieved. "I was just trying to help you, Cassian. Luna doesn't understand your world at all. She's not right for you... I thought you were just infatuated with her temporarily..."

"Shut up." Her performance only disgusted me. "The only thing you can do is tell me what happened last night."

Maybe the undisguised murderous intent in my eyes scared her. Her face changed. That layer of grievance peeled away, revealing a trace of resentment. "I just... told her you were drunk and to come pick you up. She saw the necklace and misunderstood. I explained. She wouldn't listen. She never likedme anyway. You know that. She can't stand anyone you get close to..."

"So," I said, word by word, "you wore my necklace, flaunted it in front of her, told her it was your earned reward?"

"You're so cheap."

My words pierced her last pretense like a precise blade. She froze, tears still on her face, but that remaining grievance in her eyes turned into exposed, humiliated hatred.

"Then what about all those heart-to-hearts before, taking me to the gala—was that all my wishful thinking?" Her voice turned shrill. "Do you dare say you felt nothing for me? Cassian, you just used me, used my feelings to fill your emptiness!"

Her words hit like a sledgehammer, waking me up. Yeah, what had I done? Had I given her any ambiguous signals? Made her delusional? Even unintentionally? I thought back to those late-night overtime talks, those nights I'd used her as a confidant... I'd cultivated her delusion myself, then turned it into a weapon against Luna.

I was the biggest fool of all.

"Get out." My voice was hoarse, exhausted, emotionless. "You're fired. Leave. Now. This industry—you're done."

"No... Cassian, you can't do this, please..." Her face went deathly pale.