Page 51 of A Sinful Gravity

I ignored that. Cut straight to it. "We need to talk."

"I think we're done talking. Mr. King." She turned to leave.

That title stung like a slap. I raised my voice.

"I never signed those divorce papers."

She stopped dead. "What?"

I saw her calm shatter, eyes wide with shock.

"I said," I locked eyes with her, "I didn't sign. And I won't. Legally, you're still my wife. Luna."

"You're insane... Cassian, what makes you think I still belong to you?" She snapped out of it, voice trembling.

It was the first real emotion I'd seen from her since we reconnected. Made me feel real, not some ghost.

"I'm not insane. I just love you too damn much." Words I'd never said before, spilling out.

She looked down, silent for a few seconds, fingers gripping the umbrella handle tight.

When she looked up, her eyes cooled. "Cassian, what's the point now? I don't believe you anymore."

"I fucked up before. But I never gave up on you." I held her gaze. "These six years, not a single day. I waited for you to come back, searched every place you might be."

Rain picked up, pouring down. I let it drench my hair, soak my shirt, cold and biting against my skin. Puddles formed, lights rippling in them like halos.

Luna just stared.

"Luna." My voice dropped, almost pleading. "Let me in? It's freezing out here."

She watched me, eyes conflicted.

Finally, she sighed and turned toward the building. "Come in. But only five minutes."

I followed her, steps heavy. The hallway narrowed, walls streaked with water stains and graffiti. She led, her back so thin it hurt to see. Six years—what the hell had she been through?

At the door, she swiped it open with a worn keycard.

Inside, the entryway cramped everything tighter. Small place, but spotless. Beige couch in the living room, kids' picture books on the coffee table, a blue glass marble on the windowsill catching the light softly.

Air smelled faintly of lavender—her scent. It eased something in me I hadn't felt in years.

I scanned quietly. Good. No signs of a man.

"Here." Luna tossed me a towel, nodding at the drips. "Don't mess up my floor."

She propped the umbrella by the door and turned. "Talk."

I didn't rush. Stripped off my soaked suit jacket, unbuttoned my shirt, and peeled it off.

The fabric clung, cold as hell. She looked away, voice tight. "What are you doing?"

"It's drenched." I gestured at the mess.

She said nothing, didn't look. I dried off my torso and started.

"Luna, these six years, I've regretted every damn day. That night at the bar, the shit I said... I was wasted. Not my realthoughts... but I know that's no excuse. I hurt you, pushed you to the edge. I deserve hell for it."