Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Cassian
A year later in New York, even the air at Lincoln Center seemed to shimmer with artistic electricity.
Neon blazed beyond the windows, but my eyes stayed locked on that closed dressing room door.
This year, I'd watched Luna transform into a swan who'd finally broken free—soaring across the world's most prestigious stages.
From her comeback debut in London's West End to standing ovations at the Paris Opera House, she'd clawed back every lost opportunity with sweat and borderline obsessive determination.
She wasn't that frightened single mom hiding in Washington's shadows anymore. She was Luna Crawford, invited to headline at Lincoln Center, hailed by mainstream media as the "Soul Dancer."
My phone lit up with Marco's financial reports. I swiped past them. These days, I cared less about watching numbers jump than waiting to see if Luna would hit her peak tonight.
The phone rang. I frowned and answered. "This better be urgent."
"You're impossible." Marco let out an exaggerated sigh. "I just wanted to tell you. The funding deal's done."
I straightened. "Good. Send me the final prospectus. I'll look now."
"Only Luna gets you this motivated."
I could practically see him rolling his eyes while hitting send.
"Fine. I'll buy you dinner when I get back." I hung up, smiling, that weight finally lifting off my chest.
I straightened my tie, listening to the faint orchestra warming up out front. That restless energy I'd buried for years surged harder than the day I'd closed my first billion-dollar deal.
The curtain rose. Lights converged.
When the spotlight hit the stage, I stopped breathing.
I was already in the front row of the VIP section, holding little Laila in her cloud of white tulle—she'd refused her own seat and climbed straight into my lap.
The kid stared at the stage, gripping a slightly crooked bouquet of freesias she'd tied herself. Their scent drifted into my nose, faint and sweet.
The moment Luna appeared center stage, the entire theater seemed to lose sound.
She moved like wind you couldn't catch—every leap, every turn carrying the tension of a butterfly breaking from its cocoon.
I watched her glow under the spotlight, watched her slender but powerful body carve perfect arcs through the air.
In that moment, I felt genuine gratitude—grateful that a year ago, before that accident, I'd pushed her away and learned to let go. Otherwise, I would have destroyed this light bright enough to cut through darkness.
"Daddy, Mommy's flying!" Laila shouted, then realized how quiet it was and squeezed my sleeve excitedly, voice dropping to a whisper.
"Yes. She's flying." My throat felt hot.
This year, I hadn't missed a single major performance.
Whether in Vienna or Tokyo, I always sat in the audience with Laila.
I stopped bursting backstage to mark my territory. Now I just sent her favorite flowers after the curtain call, then watched from a distance as she celebrated with her company, basking in glory that belonged to her.
Watching her onstage, what filled my chest wasn't twisted possession anymore—it was something close to reverence.
She was my love. But more than that, she was herself. The most brilliant dancer I'd ever known.
When Luna hit the climax, Laila jumped down and pressed against the front rail to watch closer. Today she wore a custom white lace dress—a miniature version of Luna's Swan Lake costume.
I looked at Laila's skirt, at the dimples that appeared when she smiled, then turned back to Luna onstage. My chest felt full to bursting.
Light poured over Luna. She looked utterly lost in it. Spinning, leaping—then after one final grand jeté, she collapsed to the floor.
One second. Two seconds... The audience sat silent briefly, then erupted into thunderous applause. People stood, shouting praise, tossing flowers onstage. I saw some still caught in the spell of the dance, quietly wiping tears.
I watched the woman surrounded by spotlight and flowers and adulation, and what rose in my chest wasn't the urge to drag her back into a dark room—it was proud, blissful pride.
Luna was taking her bows. She folded gracefully, her long neck carving a tragic arc.
When she lifted her head and her gaze found me among thousands, she raised an eyebrow with playful challenge. "See, Cassian? I'm amazing."
I mouthed back silently, "You're the best."
She smiled. That smile outshone the Austrian crystal chandeliers overhead. Laila couldn't contain herself anymore, waving her freesias and shouting for Mommy.
That everyday family warmth, fermenting inside this solemn temple of art, created something secretly sweet called happiness.
I stood, taking Laila's hand toward backstage. The curtain had fallen, but the artistic aftershock still trembled in the air, making my heart race.
I'd planned to find Luna directly, but after getting a message, I changed direction.
I had my assistant take Laila for the ice cream she'd been dying for, then turned and walked into the VIP reception room backstage.
Davis from the Lincoln Arts Foundation was waiting.
"Cassian, regarding this investment in the Royal Ballet—we've finalized the details.
" Davis shook my hand and pointed to a contract clause.
"King Group takes thirty percent equity but zero involvement in artistic decisions.
This money's enough to establish three world-class rehearsal facilities.
But... you really don't want her to know this is your money? "
"No need." My answer was flat, my gaze drifting to New York's night sky beyond the window. "This reflects her abilities. Any investor would see massive returns."
"But this is two hundred million with no strings attached," Davis teased. "You're not doing business—you're worshiping your goddess."
I was about to respond when something rustled behind the door.
I turned. Luna stood there gripping the doorframe. She hadn't changed out of her white feathered costume yet. Fresh off stage, tiny beads of sweat clung to her nose, her cheeks flushed pink.
Her eyes fell on the open contract, joy fading slightly as her brow furrowed. "Mr. Davis, when you said 'King Group'... you mean Cassian's project?"
The atmosphere shifted instantly. I could feel Luna's displeasure—not anger, but a quiet sense of betrayal.
Davis read the room and excused himself, closing the door behind him.
"Cassian, this is what you call 'support'?" Luna walked in, her pointe shoes clicking against the wood floor. She stood before me, arms crossed, her posture blade-straight from years of training.
"I thought Lincoln Center reached out because they valued my artistry. Turns out my 'benefactor' was pulling strings behind the scenes all along?"
Her eyes reddened. That hurt of being underestimated made her unbearably vulnerable.
I didn't rush to explain. Instead, I stepped forward, reaching for her waist. She tried to dodge, but I gripped her shoulders stubbornly, pulling her toward the desk.
"Luna, don't convict me yet." I pulled out another document from the drawer—over a hundred pages of business background checks and market projections.
"Look at this first. My data analysis team put this together. If you were just a pretty face, my board would've torn me apart by now."
I flipped to a page and pointed at the curve. "Look, since your London debut, global classical arts market attention jumped twelve points. Your personal brand value tripled in six months. For this funding contract, Davis approached three banks. I had to outbid them all to win it."
I leaned closer, our breaths mingling, my voice low and focused. "I'm a businessman too, Luna. I invested in you because the 'Crawford Effect' brings premium brand endorsement to my company. If I didn't invest, others would be lining up. But I'm greedy. I don't like giving away sure bets."
Luna stared at the professional data and cold reports, her wariness gradually dissolving. She was smart. She could see the substance here.
"So you really think... I'm that good?" She looked up, her tone softening with unintentional pride, eyes bright.
"You deserve more than this." I reached out, my fingertips brushing the damp hair at her temple with utmost tenderness. "This is just business, Luna. I love you, but I respect your career. I won't use money to buy your freedom."
Luna looked at me, then suddenly laughed. In that moment, all misunderstanding and distance seemed to melt.
"Cassian, can you even talk without a negotiating table?" She glared playfully but leaned into my embrace anyway.
I circled her impossibly slender waist. This hug—public yet intimate—made my heart skip.
Her scent—faint sweat mixed with expensive stage makeup—was the most intoxicating thing in the world to me.
I felt myself tighten below.
"Thank you," she said softly, forehead pressed to my chest, listening to my drumming heartbeat. "Thank you for choosing to stand beside me and move forward together."
She lifted her head on her own, her long neck drawing a tempting line, and kissed me.
I didn't waste the opportunity. I cupped the back of her head and deepened the kiss. In Lincoln Center's quiet VIP room, beside contracts worth hundreds of millions, I felt her warmth and passion.
Her hands climbed to my shoulders, fingers pressing hard enough to wrinkle my custom suit, while I wanted nothing but to pull her into my bones.
"You're my greatest pride," I murmured against her lips, voice rough and barely audible.
I wasn't satisfied with just her lips—I moved down her neck, making her tremble.
"Okay, stop. Laila's waiting for us outside." When I reached her stomach, Luna pushed me away, blushing, fussing with her disheveled feathered skirt.
"Wait, Luna." I caught her hand, my heartbeat suddenly out of control. "One more thing. The director said there's a lighting adjustment onstage that needs your final approval. Just five minutes. They're worried about the next show."
She frowned skeptically. "Now? This late?"
But the determination in my eyes kept her from refusing. I took her hand and led her through the historic curtain, back onto the stage that had just held thousands of eyes.
The stage was empty and sacred now, lit only by a few work lights casting dim glows. But the moment we reached center stage, the dark theater suddenly transformed.
Countless golden, warm spotlights blazed to life, converging into one massive circle with us at its center. Red rose petals covered the floor—a miracle dozens of crew members had accomplished in ten minutes.
On the other side of the stage, Laila stood in her white dress, holding a forest-green velvet box, beaming as she walked toward us.
Luna froze completely. She covered her mouth, staring at this dreamlike scene, tears pooling in her eyes.
I released her hand and stepped back. On this wooden floor that had carried countless artists' dreams at Lincoln Center, I slowly, firmly dropped to one knee.
I'd imagined this scene a thousand times this year.
I'd considered the Washington estate, a London beach, beneath the Eiffel Tower. But ultimately, I chose here. Because this place witnessed her peak. Witnessed her freedom.
"Luna Crawford."
My voice echoed through the empty theater, trembling yet utterly steady. "Years ago, I was a complete bastard. I didn't understand marriage or love. I only knew how to cage your dreams under the guise of caring."
Luna's tears finally spilled. She stood there, watching me.
I took the box Laila handed me and clicked it open. A five-carat center stone cut in the shape of a delicate feather—a sapphire—glowed deep blue under the lights.
"This year, I watched you climb higher and higher. I finally understood. I don't love the obedient wife. I love YOU. The Luna who glows onstage, who has her own soul. I love everything you are."
I held her trembling hand, feeling her racing pulse, my voice overflowing with emotion.
"I promise that for the rest of my life, I'll be your foundation—not your cage.
If you want to fly, I'll fly with you. If you're tired, I'm the harbor where you can always land.
I'm not asking you to become the lady of the King family.
I'm asking you to become the only, eternal Miss Crawford of my life. "
"Luna, will you marry this man who's finally learned how to love? This time, no contract. Just this heart that's already carved full of your name."
Laila whispered excitedly beside us. "Mommy, say yes to Daddy! We have to stay together forever!"
Luna couldn't speak through her tears. She dropped down, not caring about her expensive costume, and threw her arms around my neck.
Her burning tears slid down my collar, scalding me until I nearly wept too.
"Yes... Cassian, yes!" she choked out, her voice clear and steady after surviving everything.
My hands shook as I slowly pushed the ring onto her finger. It fit perfectly. Seamless.
I couldn't hold back anymore. I stood, swept her into my arms, and spun her once through the rose petals and golden light.
Luna gasped and laughed, her long hair brushing my face. That absolute happiness made my soul feel completely whole.
"Daddy Mommy hug!" Laila jumped into our embrace, too.
The empty audience suddenly lit up, confetti falling from above. Chloe, Amy, Royal Ballet colleagues, and even some of my business partners were down there cheering, their roar filling the entire theater.
Luna squeaked softly and buried her face in my chest, ears turning red.
"Kiss!" Chloe shouted.
I lifted Luna's chin, lowered my head, and saw myself reflected in her eyes.
"I love you, Luna." I pressed a kiss to her lips worth remembering forever.
"I love you, too, Cassian. Thank you for making me fall in love with this world again."
Under Lincoln Center's dazzling starlight, we held each other and kissed. In that moment, I knew all the wandering, pain, and hurt had become the past.
The road ahead might still have storms, but as long as her hand was in mine, I had the courage to face the entire world.
I'm Cassian King. And at the finish line where love meets freedom, I finally win back my one and only world.