Page 93 of A Sinful Gravity

"Mommy, can they come again next time?"

"Of course."

She ran over happily and hugged my legs. "Mommy's the best!"

I crouched down and held her.

That night, though, Laila's mood was off. After lying down, she tugged gently on my sleeve.

"Mommy, I told a lie today."

I froze, then turned and held her. "What's wrong, baby?"

"When Jenny asked if Cassian was my daddy, I said yes." Her eyes were full of conflict. "I really wish my daddy would come back soon."

Those words locked me in place, my fingers instantly cold. It took forever to find my voice.

"He will, baby." I held her tighter.

The secret inside me felt like it was burning me alive.

I thought of this afternoon, of Laila's joyful figure, and my heartbeat went chaotic.

This was what I'd always wanted to give her—a stable social circle and a loving environment to grow up in. Now it was within reach. If I just nodded, if I just stayed, Laila could keep laughing like this, carefree.

But what about later?

That man's love had always been predatory. Were these changes genuine remorse, or another gentle trap to control me again? I couldn't risk it.

My career was at its absolute peak. Touring across America was every ballet dancer's ultimate dream.

If I stayed for this man who'd once hurt me so deeply, wouldn't I one day become that withered soul again?

Cassian still didn't know Laila was his daughter. If he found out, would he still be this patient? Would he try to take her from me? I had to think through every possibility.

Laila's breathing gradually steadied. She was asleep.

I laid her down gently, turned, and went back to my room, opening that tour plan. The Chicago contract terms looked cold and decisive under the light.

I looked up toward the window. Washington's night scene remained glittering, that glitter hiding the comfortable life I could have so easily.

But I looked down and saw in the mirror a woman who, though tired, had determined eyes.

I couldn't stake the rest of my life on a man's reformation. Even if he was doing well now, even if the braids he made for Laila were beautiful—that wasn't reason enough to stop.

Laila would understand. Or rather, I had to make her understand—a woman's independence mattered more than temporary security.

I picked up that heavy pen and on the contract's final page, on that horizontal line, I signed my name stroke by stroke.

Luna Crawford.

Bold letters. No hesitation whatsoever.

Chapter Twenty

Cassian

Morning sunlight poured through the dining room's massive windows, turning the marble tabletop almost blinding.