Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Luna
The next few days, I threw everything I had into the rehearsal studio.
Out the door at eight a.m., home by ten p.m. In between, except for meals and bathroom breaks, I barely left those rooms. The artistic director couldn't stop praising my "dedication," saying my condition was exceptional this time, that I portrayed the protagonist's despair and struggle with rare depth.
He had no idea I wasn't acting at all.
I was just channeling all the chaos in my head through my body.
Cassian's words from that night, that brutal kiss—they'd been lodged in my chest ever since.
Laila matched my schedule, with Chloe or Amy watching her. When I got home at night, she'd pull me close and tell me about her day. Those were the only moments I could really breathe.
"Mommy!"
Laila's voice rang out from the apartment entrance. I checked my watch—ten-thirty already. Chloe stood at the door with her, Laila fighting to keep her eyes open but determined to wait for me.
"Baby, why aren't you asleep yet?"
"Waiting for you." She rubbed her eyes and threw herself at my legs. "Did you dance well today?"
"Not bad."
"Will you dance again tomorrow?"
"Yes."
She nodded, then looked up at me. "But Mommy's time is mine now."
I smoothed her hair. "Yes. I will tell you a story, okay?"
I scooped Laila up and turned to Chloe. "Sweetie, I've been so swamped lately—"
"Don't give me that." Chloe cut me off. "Being with Laila is pure joy. She's an angel."
Laila giggled in my arms. "I like Aunt Chloe, too."
I smiled. Around them, I could always be myself.
"After opening night, things will calm down. Then we'll all go out together."
"Deal." Chloe nodded briskly, then waved at Laila. "See you tomorrow, sweetheart."
After Chloe left, I lay down next to Laila, ready for bedtime stories.
Laila spoke up suddenly. "Mommy, that man we met at the restaurant, does he know Aunt Chloe?"
My heart lurched.
"What?"
"The man with blonde hair." Laila played with her fingers. "I accidentally went into Aunt Chloe's study today and saw their photo together on the shelf."
It took me a moment to find my voice. "Yes, they know each other. That's why there's a photo."
"But Mommy knows him, too, right?" She looked up at me, eyes innocent. "Do you have a photo together?"
"Baby, it was so long ago, Mommy can't remember." I forced a smile, my voice tight. "Okay, now, let's hear a story, shall we?"
"Once upon a time..."
Laila's attention shifted to the fairy tale. Within minutes, she'd drifted off.
I kissed her forehead gently, my heart a tangled mess.
The next day after rehearsal, I sat in the backstage dressing room with an ice pack on my ankle. I'd landed wrong from a grand jeté—twisted it. Nothing serious, but it had swollen.
Someone knocked.
"Come in."
The door opened. Not an assistant, not a Royal Ballet colleague—
Cassian.
My body went rigid. The ice pack nearly slipped from my hand.
"What are you doing here?"
"I know the artistic director here." He stood in the doorway, not stepping inside. "Sponsored one of their tours a few years back."
I didn't want to talk to him. I gathered my things, heading for the rehearsal hall.
"Luna." He called my name softly. None of that domineering obsession from that night—just careful, tentative testing.
I stopped, looked at him coldly. "Cassian, if you're here to repeat that 'legal obligation' speech, we have nothing to discuss."
"I came to apologize."
"You already apologized."
"Not enough." He paused. "That night, I lost control again. I promised I wouldn't, but... I broke my word."
I turned away, wouldn't look at him.
"Luna, I know you don't trust me." He took two steps forward but stopped six feet away. "I'm not asking you to. But I want to have one real conversation with you. Just one. After that, whatever you decide—I'll accept it."
I said nothing.
He stood there, waiting.
Just as I was about to refuse, Seb's voice came from the doorway.
"Luna, are you okay? I heard about your ankle—"
He saw Cassian, froze, then looked at me.
"Need me to stay?"
I looked at him, then at Cassian.
Cassian stood aside, said nothing, just took a deep breath.
Seb seemed to understand. He came over, crouched beside me, and lowered his voice.
"Do you want to talk to him?"
"I don't know."
Seb considered this and spoke softly. "Luna, maybe you two need a proper goodbye. Avoiding this forever isn't the answer. Laila needs a peaceful environment, too."
I looked up at Seb. Always so rational. Even after his unpleasant encounter with Cassian, he maintained that reassuring gentlemanly composure.
I pressed my lips together. Finally, I sighed and nodded.
Seb stood. "I'll drive you home tonight."
He glanced at Cassian once before walking out.
Just the two of us left in the dressing room.
I took a deep breath, set down the ice pack, and stood up.
"There's a café nearby," I said. "Let's go. Don't want to disturb people here."
Cassian nodded, stepped aside to let me pass.
The café was across from the Royal Ballet—small, quiet. Not many people at this hour. We found a corner table.
A server came to take our order.
"Want to try our Americano, sir?"
"No Americano." Cassian looked at the menu. "Latte, light sugar, extra milk. Switch hers to oat milk. She's lactose intolerant. And add a red velvet cake."
I froze.
The server looked at me. I nodded.
Cassian ordered black coffee for himself.
After the server left, I looked at him.
"How did you know?"
"Back then, you made me breakfast every morning. Your coffee was always a latte, always oat milk." He paused. "I just never mentioned that I'd noticed."
I looked down and said nothing.
The coffee came quickly. I cradled the latte—perfect temperature, smooth foam. One sip—oat milk's sweetness mixed with coffee's gentle bitterness.
Exactly how I liked it.
"Luna." He spoke.
I looked up.
"I've been thinking about what you said that day." He said. "You said I never asked about you, never tried to know you. You were right."
He paused, real guilt pooling in his eyes. "I thought possessing you was the same as loving you. I was wrong. I hurt you, made you compromise yourself over and over."
He stopped, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"Maybe these past years abroad were hard for you, but the moment we met, I demanded forgiveness." He said. "Last time I couldn't even control myself and..."
I turned away and looked out the window.
"Luna." His voice dropped lower. "I'm sorry. Not just for that night. For everything. For not believing you, for not seeing you. For all the self-righteous, stupid things I did."
I felt emotions churning inside.
"You asked me here just to say this?"
"No." Cassian took a deep breath and continued. "I know I have no right to ask for forgiveness. But I want to... make amends. Not by forcing you, not by making you come back. I just want Laila to have a better life."
He pulled a folder from his bag, placed it on the table, and pushed it toward me.
I opened it. A planning document.
The cover read: Laila Education and Life Planning Proposal.
I looked up at him. What was he trying to do?
"Take a look."
I flipped through it. Washington's top children's ballet programs, preschool education resources, each with detailed descriptions.
The middle section covered healthcare—recommended pediatricians, child psychologists, dental clinics, and even nutritionists. Further on, residential considerations—community safety ratings, children's activity facilities, nearby parks, libraries.
The final pages outlined the best options for Laila across all categories.
Every page was in color, with charts and images.
I looked up at him.
"What is this?"
"I know I've done a lot wrong," he said. "So I made this."
He looked at the proposal.
"Laila needs a stable environment. Your current apartment—the neighborhood isn't safe. I'm not saying you can't take care of her. You've done an amazing job, better than anyone. But some things, you can't handle alone."
"And Laila's growing. She's at the age for proper education." Cassian looked at me, his tone serious.
I wanted to argue, but he was right.
The apartment building's security gate was broken, the hallway lights didn't work, and the corner by the next street really wasn't safe. Every night I came home, I'd double-lock the door, but I still worried.
"My place has a better environment," he continued. "Private yard, twenty-four-hour security, the best amenities nearby. I'll arrange for someone to teach her, care for her. If you're willing, you can move back. You'd have your own space."
"Impossible." I closed the file, anger creeping into my voice. "Cassian, you think I'd subject myself to your control for these so-called 'resources'?"
"No. The house has your name on it—it's yours. You'd have your own room, independent access, and complete autonomy. I promise not to interfere with your life."
I stared at him. Years of pain had kept me from thinking about my assets here.
"You can leave anytime," he said. "I've drafted an agreement you can take home and review. It explicitly states you have complete autonomy, you can move out whenever you want, I won't stop you. And the place is really suitable for a child now."
"What do you mean?" I crossed my arms defensively.
His voice dropped.
"I had it renovated. Converted a room into a nursery, bought child-appropriate furniture. Added a fence and swing set in the yard, planted some hydrangeas—the ones you like. I know you might not come, but I prepared anyway."
I opened my mouth, didn't know what to say.
He took a deep breath, like making some enormous concession.
"I admit it. I want Laila to be my child. But even if... even if she's really not, I still want to make up for these six years I wasn't there for her. Just for Laila's sake, give her a better environment. Please?"
That last sentence, he spoke through clenched teeth. I could see the struggle and doubt deep in his eyes, but for me to stay, he'd chosen this humbling retreat.
We both fell silent.
"Chloe will visit often." He broke the silence. "You know how much Laila likes her. With her there, you can rehearse without worry."
I hadn't expected him to bring up Chloe.
"You discussed this with her?"
"She said she'd be willing." He paused. "Of course, if you don't want this, forget it. I just wanted you to know. If you come back, you won't face me alone. You'll have company."
I looked down at the proposal.
Every page so meticulously done. He'd found the best of everything.
I looked at him.
His eyes held hope, but he was suppressing it. He didn't want me to see.
"Cassian," I said. "Are you doing all this so I'll forgive you?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"No. Just because I want you to be happy." He said, his voice rough.
"I know I can't fix the past. But the future—I still have time. I can see Laila is your whole world. I want to give her the best, too. She doesn't need to call me Dad. I just... want to do something."
This man—six years ago, he would never have said these things. He only commanded, arranged, and demanded obedience.
Now he sat here with a dozens-page proposal, telling me "you can leave anytime."
"You don't have to forgive me, Luna." He continued. "You can hate me, that's fine. But Laila, whether she's mine or not, I want to be good to her. Call it... something I'm doing for you."
He finished his coffee. "Just be yourself."
"Cassian." I looked into those eyes that once mesmerized and broke me. Now they held no aggressive light, only careful waiting. "I need to think about it."
He nodded. "Okay."
"I'm leaving." I stood.
He stood too. "Can I drive you?"
"No need," I said. "Seb's waiting."
He paused, nodded. "All right." Didn't press further.
Outside the window, night fell. Washington's lights came on one by one.
Seb's car sat at the curb. Seeing me emerge, he rolled down the window. "How'd it go?"
"Fine. Nothing dramatic." I said, getting in, placing the folder on my lap. "Just about Laila."
"He knows?"
"No." I leaned back in the seat. "He just wants to give Laila better resources."
"What do you think?" Seb started the engine. The headlights illuminated a stretch of road ahead.
"I don't know. I need to think it through first." I rested against the seat, hand on the folder, thoughts scattered.
Seb didn't ask more. "Okay, Luna. Just one thing—don't let this hurt you."
"I know." I smiled.
After getting home and putting Laila to bed, I sat alone in the living room, looking at the proposal.
These frighteningly detailed arrangements. How much time did he spend on this?
His words echoed in my mind.
"The future—I hope there's still time."
I closed the proposal, stood, and walked into the bedroom.
Laila slept deeply, clutching a teddy bear. Light spilled in, illuminating her small face, making her golden curls glow.
I sat on the edge of the bed, watching her.
"Baby," I whispered. "What should Mommy do?"
She didn't answer, just rolled over, hugging the bear tighter.
I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
My head was full of this afternoon's scene. Him saying "even if she's not my child, I want to do something for her. I just want you to be happy."
And that look in his eyes.
That careful, waiting-for-my-answer look.
I closed my eyes.
Outside, the night was deep.
But I knew, tonight, I probably wouldn't sleep well again.