Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Luna
On my birthday, rain started falling at four in the morning. Gray mist hung over Washington like a shroud, pressing down on the city, suffocating everything beneath it.
I woke just after six. When my phone lit up, my heart actually skipped. Cassian was calling.
"Luna," his voice carried that rough edge of exhaustion, but there was something almost eager when he mentioned tonight. "Happy birthday. I'll pick you up at seven—maybe wear that perfect blue dress?"
Short and to the point. He hung up before I could respond. But I stood there for a long time, feeling something strange flutter in my chest. I knew I was smiling.
For a moment, I almost forgot everything awful from the past few days.
This was the first time in three years he'd actually made plans for my birthday—a real date. He spent two-thirds of the year traveling, working, and schmoozing clients. Holidays usually slipped his mind, marked only by a card, maybe jewelry.
But this sudden tenderness, this ceremony of it all, hit like morphine. Instant forgiveness for all the cold violence that came before.
Maybe after that angry, tearful fight, he was actually trying to change.
I spent the entire afternoon getting ready.
Bath, skincare, hair, makeup. I put on the blue dress, pinned my hair up, let it down, and pinned it up again. Three different versions in the mirror. Finally settled on simple—half-up, blonde hair falling over my shoulders. Effortless. Clean. Like the first time I met Cassian.
By the time I finished, it was almost six. I pulled up the photo of that sapphire necklace again, imagining the perfect surprised expression I'd wear when I saw it tonight.
Chloe's words echoed in my head. "Cassian loves you, he just doesn't know how to show it. He bought that necklace for today. He gets you."
Outside, rain tapped against the windows. It felt like it was tapping on my heart, sending up little splashes of joy.
Seven o'clock came. Nothing.
Seven-thirty. Eight.
The rain got heavier. The whole world blurred with moisture.
I called him. Once. Twice. Three times. Nothing but cold mechanical voicemail.
That afternoon joy cooled slowly through the long wait, finally freezing into something bone-deep and bitter.
At 10:05, my phone rang.
I flexed my stiff fingers and swiped. A sweet, syrupy female voice answered.
"Mrs. King, hi, this is Sloane. Cassian had a last-minute business thing this afternoon. He's drunk now, at the Obsidian club in the VIP lounge."
Sloane's words and the way she said "Cassian," so familiar, so intimate, hit like hammers. I could barely stay upright. Took forever to find my voice.
"Why is it you?" I gripped the phone, voice ice cold. "Stay away from him."
Sloane didn't respond to that. Just kept going in that formatted tone. "He asked me to call you. He wants you to pick him up. The situation here... isn't great."
Rage, humiliation, worry—all twisted together, choking me. I could picture Sloane's smirk on the other end. Made me want to tear her apart.
But deeper than that was bone-deep panic. I didn't want Cassian getting hurt out there, even if he'd just stood me up.
Didn't even change out of the dress. Grabbed my purse, lifted the hem, snatched the car keys, and ran into the storm.
I got in the car. Wipers going crazy. Vision blurred. Brain full of images—Cassian drunk, Sloane's sugary voice.
I knew Obsidian. Washington's elite playground. Low-key facade, different world inside. At least it wasn't far from home.
Twenty minutes later, I could see the warm yellow lights. Pulled right up to the entrance—no time for parking.
The lobby pounded with music. Dim lights. Cigar smoke mixed with expensive whiskey.
I wove through the crowd carefully and reached the elevator. Got stopped.
"Miss, upstairs is for VIPs only. Can't just go up." The attendant looked me up and down—my wet clothes—eyes dismissive.
Anger flared. I yanked the VIP card from my purse and threw it in his face. When he saw the King family crest, his expression shifted to horror.
"I'm so sorry! Mrs. King, I thought you were—" He stammered, fumbling with the elevator button, running to grab a towel.
I ignored his groveling, smoothed my dress, and stepped into the elevator. Dabbed at the water on my clothes.
I'd rushed out impulsively. Couldn't show up looking like this.
The top floor was quiet as another world. The thick carpet absorbed every footstep.
Heart racing, I reached the VIP room. My hand touched the handle, then froze.
The door wasn't shut completely. Left a tiny gap. Low music leaked through.
Male laughter drifted out. Glasses clinking.
"Cassian, I heard your sweet little wife has a birthday today. Why aren't you home with her?" A man's voice, heavy with mockery. "I know it's a business marriage, but this is cold even for you."
I held my breath, stared at that crack. Then I heard Cassian's voice.
"Luna?" His voice was low, slightly slurred from drinking, but sharp as a scalpel, publicly dissecting my dignity.
"Don't... mention that cheap woman... The way she is now, so obedient, so pathetic, always cowering.
.. It's repulsive. Kills any feeling I might have.
She's like a boring puppet. God, every time I walk through that door, all I want is to escape. "
Someone hesitated, then laughed. "At least Luna's famous for being beautiful. Great body too."
"Oh, please... If it wasn't for controlling the company, I never would've agreed to this arranged marriage!" Cassian's voice suddenly got louder.
"What's a good body matter when she's so boring that... even in bed she's stiff as a board, like she's completing an assignment." He paused, laughed shortly—lazy, weary. "A home that only exists for profit—every second there is torture."
"Poor married man..."
The room erupted in laughter.
I froze. Heart stopped. Ears ringing. Stomach churning.
I thought my compliance was maintaining this marriage. Thought my understanding might earn his pity.
But in his world, that tenderness translated to "cheap" and "boring."
I wanted to run. Legs felt like lead.
I reached out for something to support my swaying body. The door wasn't latched—my hand accidentally pushed it open wider.
Inside, dim lighting. Cassian slumped on the couch, shirt unbuttoned, tie crooked, eyes glazed.
And Sloane sat beside him, pressed tight against him, fingers tracing his shirt cuff, smile seductive.
Sloane spotted me first. Froze for a second. Then her expression adjusted perfectly—concern—as she walked forward, blocking me from the doorway.
"Oh! Mrs. King! When did you get here? Why didn't you knock? How rude... I hope you didn't hear anything?" Her voice was soft, falsely caring. "Cassian's drunk. Don't take it to heart. What he said just now... just drunk talk, you know how he gets."
As she spoke, she deliberately adjusted her collar. Slow. Deliberate. The others noticed, went quiet, nodding obsequiously.
"Just joking around, you know."
In that dim light, I clearly saw the stunning sapphire necklace around her neck.
That sapphire necklace gleamed coldly—the exact one I'd been dreaming about, the one I thought Cassian bought for me. This afternoon I'd still been anticipating it.
Sloane followed my gaze down, then smiled. "This is a little reward from Cassian's trip. He said I'd been working so hard, and the necklace matches my dress tonight. See? Isn't it beautiful?"
Reward.
Reward for Sloane.
The string I'd been holding taut all night snapped.
I didn't speak. Vision went black. Could barely stand.
Sloane kept talking, but I couldn't hear anymore. World spinning. Had to dig my nails into my arm to stay conscious.
I glanced past Sloane at Cassian. Eyes closed. Didn't care who stood at the door. That feeling of abandonment by the entire world drowned me completely.
Exhaustion hit—absolute, overwhelming. I turned and ran from that suffocating noise.
I don't remember getting back to my car. Just remember my hands shaking so badly I couldn't get the key in the lock.
Tears blurred everything. I started the car frantically, floored it. Washington in the storm looked like a beast ready to swallow me whole.
The tire skidded at a corner. My heart nearly stopped. Instinct took over—yanked the wheel, slammed the brakes. The car shook violently, screaming as it scraped the guardrail, then smashed hard into a roadside sycamore.
The airbag exploded with a muffled bang. I lurched forward, snapped back by the seatbelt.
I collapsed on the airbag, gasping, shaking.
After a long time, I realized the car had stopped. I lifted my head. Saw the tree. The hood crumpled. Engine smoking. Windshield covered in rain and leaves. Like the end of the world.
Trembling, I pulled out my phone. Instinctively dialed Cassian.
Two rings. Then I snapped awake. Hung up hard.
What was I expecting? For him to rush from Sloane's arms to save me?
My finger paused. Dialed another number.
"Mom, I crashed..." I tried to keep my voice steady.
"Luna? What now?" My mother's sleepy voice dripped with impatience. "If you crashed, deal with it yourself. What were you doing out this late? I've told you—the family's reputation matters more than your life. And don't bother Cassian. Call the insurance company."
She hung up. In her mind, I wasn't worth as much as sleep and appearances.
I clutched the phone. Finally found my voice. Broke down crying like a child. Tears and snot everywhere. Forgot every lesson about elegance my mother ever taught.
Finally, I called Chloe.
She answered fast. Like she'd been holding the phone, waiting. "Luna, what happened?"
"Take me away... please. Let me go."
Couldn't say another word. But she just said, "Send your location. I'm coming."
Chloe arrived with an umbrella, splashing through puddles into the headlight beams. When she saw me, she didn't ask questions. Just pulled me from the driver's seat, checked me head to toe. Once she confirmed I wasn't seriously hurt, she wrapped me in her jacket.
"Come on, get in my car," she said.
I followed her. Legs felt weak—that post-adrenaline weakness. I grabbed her arm. She gripped my hand tight. Didn't ask anything. Just led me forward.
Chloe's car was warm. She handed me hot water, made a few calls to deal with the accident scene, then drove me home.
"Want to go to my place?" Chloe's voice was cold, edged with fury.
"No," I leaned against the window. Knew she'd probably guessed. I felt strength gradually returning. "Take me home. I need to get some things."
Back at the house, I'd recovered somewhat. Chloe brought me a blanket. I curled on the couch against her shoulder. After silence, I spoke. Told her word for word what I'd heard tonight. What happened.
Chloe's chest heaved. Hands trembled. She steadied her rage before speaking. "I'm so sorry, Luna."
"He makes me sick! He doesn't deserve you!"
"Cassian is a complete bastard! How dare he say that about you? How dare he give that necklace to that bitch Sloane?"
Chloe's tears fell. She turned and hugged me tight. "I'm sorry. I thought he'd be better. I really thought he..." She paused. "I was wrong. I shouldn't have told you to wait."
She knew Cassian had finally crossed the line. Saw the emptiness in my eyes. Knew my heart was dead.
"Not your fault," I said.
"I told you to stay," she said, voice low. "That's on me."
We were both quiet.
Then I spoke. "Chloe, I want to leave."
She turned, looked at me. Reluctance and understanding in her eyes. I knew she was listening.
"Not just talk," I said. "Really. I've thought it through. I want to leave Washington. I want... to start over doing what I actually want to do."
Chloe looked in my eyes. "Luna, if you decide to go, I'll support you and help. Cassian won't find you again."
I stood. Went to the closet, pulled out the letter I'd buried deepest in the drawer. The offer from the Royal Ballet in London. They'd said they'd seen my academy performances and awards, wanted to bring in my teaching style.
I'd received it months ago. But back then, I'd been lost in sweet marriage fantasies. Just smiled and put it away.
Now I pulled it out. London would be daytime now. I dialed the number.
A woman with a warm voice answered. When I gave my name and purpose, her voice brightened immediately. "Luna Crawford! We've been waiting so long. You finally called!"
I held the phone, closed my eyes, then spoke. "So... is the position still available?"
"Of course it is," she said. "We've been holding it for you, Luna. We can't wait for you to arrive."
"Good. I accept."
Hung up. Felt something loosen in my chest. Like something unknown breaking through soil.
I pulled out the divorce papers I'd drafted after our last fight. I'd put them in the bottom drawer of the desk, hadn't touched them. Like something I didn't want to face.
The agreement gave up all property, stocks. I only wanted freedom.
I pulled it out, read through it, signed my name at the bottom. Left it on the coffee table, pressed down with that sapphire ring.
The ring looked like a blue teardrop now. Mocking three years of stupidity.
Chloe helped me pack. She moved efficiently, but I knew her eyes were red. She didn't let me see. We moved quickly, silently, precisely taking only essentials.
I set down the keys. Stood in the entrance. One last look back at this home.
The kitchen where I made soup. The plant on the balcony still alive. Like nothing had happened. Like the woman who waited late every night, who left soup on the table, might come back.
But she wouldn't.
Just as I picked up that simple suitcase to leave, a sudden intense nausea hit my throat.
I leaned over the sink, retching violently. Maybe the emotional upheaval plus the crash shock—I figured it was just a physical stress response.
I touched my flat stomach. A strange premonition made me freeze.
But I didn't have time to confirm it.
One last look at this home full of oppression, cold violence, and humiliation. I turned away.
Six a.m. I was about to board a flight to London. Before takeoff, I deleted all social media accounts, pulled out the SIM card that had been with me three years.
Chloe sat beside me watching. Knees touching. She'd cried last night. Calm now. Holding coffee, head on my shoulder.
"Message me when you get there," she said.
"Okay."
"When it rains in London, eat something hot," she said. "Don't deprive yourself."
"Mm."
"If you ever want to come back," she lifted her head, looked at me, "I'm here."
I squeezed her hand. "I know."
"And," she let go, looked at me seriously, "if you notice anything wrong with your body, go to the hospital. That episode earlier worried me."
I nodded silently.
The gate announcement came. My flight.
I stood, shouldered my bag, walked to the gate. Didn't look back.
Besides Chloe, no one knew where I was going.
The plane's roar filled the cabin. I watched New York shrink to a dot below.
Cassian, starting today, your puppet's done performing.