Page 8 of A Sinful Gravity

Her face softened, thoughtful.

"Like it?" I asked.

She met my eyes, direct as hell, something flickering in her brown depths. No time to read it. She dropped her gaze, warmth finally creeping in.

"Thanks." Softer than usual, not a direct yes, light but steady.

Something settled in my chest. Control snapped back.

"Tonight's a gala." I stood, chasing that commanding cool, heart still racing. "We're going together. You're this house's only lady."

I grabbed my coat, mind flipping to the day—morning meetings, afternoon negotiation, evening gala from the Stephen family, can't skip, our groups at a critical juncture. I had to show.

"I'll handle your styling. Rest up." I added.

She paused, a flicker in her eyes, then dipped her head. "Okay."

I snatched my phone, headed out, hesitated, then tapped Sloane's contact. She aced makeup—her job, and a way to atone for today.

Before shutting the door, I glanced back.

She sat on the sofa, not looking, profile to the window, blonde hair down, light hitting half her face, box in hand. Her lashes shadowed her expression, unreadable.

I shoved down the dull ache, dialed Sloane.

It connected, her voice husky. She hadn't slept much either.

"Luna's gala look tonight—you're on it," I ordered. "Dress, hair, makeup, all top-tier. Pick from this season's best designers."

"Got it, boss. Understood." Her crisp reply eased me a bit.

On the drive to work, I stared out the window, then shut my eyes, cleared my head.

The car pulled into the garage, engine humming low. I got out, suit sharp, strides steady—the usual Cassian entering the building.

Cool, in charge, no trace of last night's chaos.

But half a step from the conference room, my phone buzzed. I checked.

Not Luna.

Sloane, short text. "styling in motion, dress picked, delivering on time tonight."

I pocketed it and pushed the door open.

Outside, Washington's morning blazed full, sunlight bouncing off glass towers onto the streets, glaring and precise. Everything ticked like clockwork.

But some nagging worry lingered, like tonight's gala might shatter the order.

Chapter Three

Luna

After Cassian left, the silence felt wrong.

I didn't get up right away. Just sat there, listening to the lock click shut, then his footsteps in the hallway. Close, then distant, then gone.

The air in the room was still thick enough to choke on. That mix of expensive tobacco and liquor, plus his signature scent, cold and aggressive, hung in every corner like it owned the place.