Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Cassian
I woke up to a dull throb.
Not a sharp headache—more like something deep behind my temples, swelling outward, slow and relentless. Like someone pressing a fist against my skull, applying steady pressure.
The light was yellow, harsh, nauseating. I stared at the hotel suite's ceiling for a long time. The dark edges made the room feel like a coffin. My suit was still on, tie hanging loose like a dead snake.
How did I get back here?
Fragments. Alcohol. Sloane's laugh. Me slumped on a couch, tongue tangled, saying something...
Luna!
I shot upright, heart seized by an icy fist. Her birthday! Last night was her birthday!
Fuck.
I threw off the covers to get up, but froze mid-motion. A dark red mark on my collarbone, suggestive, glaring, like a silent accusation.
Sloane. I knew it was her. But when had she...
A wave of nausea hit me. Not disgust at Sloane—disgust at myself. I'd allowed this to happen. No, I'd created the conditions for it to happen.
I rushed to the bathroom, scrubbing my face with cold water until my skin burned. The man in the mirror looked wrecked, defeated. That mark on his neck seared my eyes like a brand.
Oliver brought me up. I tried to remember. Right, Oliver. I was sure of it. That was probably the only thing giving me any relief right now.
Then the words I'd said last night stabbed into my brain like ice picks, one after another.
"Her submissive act makes me sick."
"She's boring as hell in bed, like a dead fish."
"Want to escape this house."
Did I really say that? On Luna's birthday, I said that?
I practically lunged for my phone. Eight missed calls, all from Luna. The last one at ten p.m.
After that, my phone went dead silent.
No messages. No confrontation. Nothing.
Relief washed over me. I told myself it was good she hadn't come, good she hadn't heard. She was still that Luna—as long as I went home and bought her favorite necklace, or said a few soft words, her eyes would redden and she'd forgive me. She always did.
The car stopped at the house. Those white flowers in the yard swayed gently in the morning breeze, like countless hands waving goodbye. I took a deep breath and pushed open the door.
What greeted me wasn't the cold war I'd expected, but an emptiness that felt gutted.
The cashmere throw she always used on the couch—gone. Her perfume on the coffee table, her magazines, that ugly cup she'd insisted on buying from the antique shop—all gone. The air still held traces of her woody fragrance, faint but almost mocking as it drifted into my nose.
A document lay quietly on the coffee table. On top of it was the sapphire ring I'd given her, sitting alone, weighing down a few sheets of paper. It glinted coldly in the morning light.
I walked over, each step like walking on cotton. Then I picked up those papers.
"Divorce Agreement."
My brain exploded into white noise. My legs moved before my mind could catch up. I rushed into the master bedroom, into the walk-in closet. Half her wardrobe was empty. That old suitcase she'd brought from her family home—gone.
Was she serious?
How dare she?!
A few bottles of skincare products she hadn't taken sat neatly arranged on the vanity, as if mocking my lack of control. I couldn't hold back anymore. My arm swept across the surface. Bottles crashed to the floor, the shattering sound especially sharp in the empty room.
If she was leaving, what good were these!
I clutched those papers, fingers white with pressure. Luna King. Her signature, stroke by stroke, neat to the point of cruelty. She wanted nothing. A clean break. She was so desperate to shed the title "Mrs. King," like throwing away trash.
Rage. A visceral, offended, bone-deep rage nearly consumed me. Who did she think she was? How dare she just leave me? She was mine!
Then the doorbell rang.
I didn't move. Next came the sound of a key turning in the lock.
Her! She came back!
A thought flashed through my furious mind like lightning. She was just throwing a tantrum, using divorce to scare me. I'd teach her a lesson in bed, show her who was in charge.
I practically flew down the stairs, yanked open the door, and a controlling smile with a hint of punishment already forming on my lips.
The smile froze.
It was Chloe. She stood in the doorway, hair disheveled, eyes red and swollen. In them was something I'd never seen before... disgust.
Her gaze moved from my face to the crumpled divorce agreement in my hand, then back to my face.
Chloe walked in and closed the door behind her.
"You look," her voice was hoarse, light as a feather but more powerful than any scream, "like a complete fucking idiot."
"Chloe—" I tried to find my voice.
"You also make me sick." She cut me off, her eyes scanning the papers in my hand with pure mockery. She shouldered past me roughly and walked straight into the living room.
I should have been angry, but when I saw the cold, undisguised contempt in her eyes, I froze. It wasn't anger. It was... disappointment after seeing through everything. And that was more unsettling than rage.
"You know how she got home last night?" Chloe turned to face me, every word deliberate. "She was in a car accident. The front of her car was practically destroyed." She paused, mouth twisting into a broken smile. "And you? You were getting cozy with your scheming secretary at the club."
"Car accident?" My voice shook. An overwhelming panic I'd never felt before drowned me like a tide. She'd been in an accident? While I was blind drunk, she'd almost...
"Where is she now?" My throat felt strangled.
"She's physically fine," Chloe's voice turned cold. "Her body's okay. But she's dead." She bit out the last few words slowly, clearly. "Cassian, the Luna in your heart died last night. You killed her with your own hands. She doesn't want you anymore."
"Nothing happened last night!" I couldn't hold back, grabbing Chloe's shoulders, nearly shouting. "I didn't fucking know this would happen! Where's Luna? Let me talk to her myself!"
"Nothing happened?" Chloe shoved me off hard, tears finally spilling over, voice trembling with emotion.
"You were blind drunk, telling her she was disgusting, boring, saying you wanted to escape this home, right to her face!
You let that bitch wear the necklace you bought for Luna and parade it in front of her!
Do you even have a heart? It was her birthday! She waited for you all day!"
My mind went blank. I staggered backward, hitting the wall. The cold sensation from behind couldn't compare to the massive void inside me.
"She dressed up carefully, waiting for you to pick her up for your date.
And what happened? She got a call to pick up her drunk husband from a bar.
What she heard were those words. What she saw was you tangled up with another woman!
When she drove home, do you know what she was thinking?
How desperate must she have been to drive in that state?
" Chloe jabbed her finger into my chest, each poke like a knife.
"After the accident, she called you first but hung up—the sight of you pressed against Sloane made her sick.
.. She called her mother. Her mother practically told her to die.
When she finally called me, she cried like a child abandoned by the whole world! "
I slid down the wall, stomach churning. Last night's rain was so heavy. Her, alone, curled up in that wrecked car. How cold must she have been? How scared?
"Forget it," Chloe wiped her tears, voice returning to cold numbness. "She's already gone anyway. I'm not telling you where she is, Cassian. You don't deserve to know." She walked toward the door, then stopped. "Remember to sign the papers."
The door slammed shut, shaking my soul loose.
The massive impact left me slow to react. I pressed my temples, forcing myself to stay calm, trying to process the information in Chloe's words.
Cassian, calm down. You can figure this out. You just need to reach Luna.
Right. I had to contact her first. I grabbed my phone and dialed frantically. Once. Ten times. Twenty times.
"Sorry, the number you have dialed is not in service."
I buried my face in my palms, like a drowning man.
I tore up the agreement, shredded it to pieces, as if that could make everything unhappen. But when those fragments fell to the floor, each one seemed to spell "Luna," each one mocking me.
I suddenly realized—aside from this house, I didn't know where else she could go. I'd never cared.
Sloane!
I shot up, brain spinning from dizziness. I steadied myself against the wall. Her. This was all because of her!
I felt like I'd grasped the most important clue. I stood up abruptly, head spinning from the sudden movement and emotion, but I couldn't care about that now.
Grabbing my car keys, I ran down the steps, then suddenly thought of Luna's accident last night as I turned the key.
She was so timid. She must have been terrified. When I found her, I'd make it up to her properly.
"Pull up two surveillance videos for me. Right now." I made a call.
I took one last look at those swaying white flowers, then floored it out of there.
At the office, I had Sloane called in. Then I stared at the surveillance footage on my computer screen. With every second, my blood ran colder.
Sloane walked in, makeup flawless, not a crack showing. She even smiled, holding documents. "Mr. King, today's meeting—"
"Put it down." My voice was calm. Calm like the ocean before a storm. "Sloane Reed, who gave you permission?"
Her smile stiffened briefly but recovered immediately. "I don't understand what you mean."
I slammed the tablet in front of her—the balcony footage of her "being pushed." And outside the private room, her blocking Luna's way, that necklace clear as day in the frame.
Her expression finally cracked. She pressed her lips together, silent.
"Explain," I said. "That necklace. When did I tell you to wear it around your own neck?"