Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Cassian
I didn't know how I'd driven home.
When I came to, the car was already parked below the apartment building. The rain had stopped hours ago, leaving streaks across the windshield. Streetlight filtered through, turning everything a hazy orange.
I sat in the driver's seat. Didn't move.
My fingers still held her warmth. My lips still tasted of her.
My mind replayed it all—the way she'd looked beneath me, the way she'd turned her head to keep the tears from falling, the way her voice had gone cold to the bone when she'd said, "Get out."
Every image cut like a knife. I'd lost control again. Once more, I'd used my rage and desire to corner her.
I'd fucked up again.
I slammed my fist into the steering wheel. The horn blared once, piercing the silent night.
I'd planned to stay calm. To talk. But the second I touched her, hell, the second I caught her scent, I couldn't help myself.
Jealousy and longing had exploded all at once.
That frenzied, punishing sex hadn't filled the black hole inside me. If anything, the emptiness afterward cut deeper.
She'd pushed me away. Said she never wanted to see me again.
I closed my eyes, head back against the seat.
Chloe was right. This would only drive her further away.
"Luna..." I murmured.
Knowing was one thing. Doing was another. I couldn't control myself around her. I saw her and had to touch her. The thought of her with someone else made me want to kill.
I sat in the car for a long time. Long enough for my clenched knuckles to ache.
Then I got out, went upstairs, and threw myself into the bathroom.
The bathroom still looked the way Luna had arranged it. When the diffusers ran out, I'd bought identical replacements.
As if she were still here.
But now, when I closed my eyes, all I saw was her cold, disgusted stare in that run-down apartment.
Six years ago, she'd looked at me with hesitation, with eagerness to please, with love.
Not anymore.
Now her eyes held only resolve and indifference.
I didn't know which hurt more. Her old eagerness to please, or her current coldness.
I let the hot water drown me.
When I came out, I checked my phone. One message stood out—from Charlie.
"Mr. King, got some results from London. Should have partial findings by morning. Want me to send them over?"
"Send it." My fingers trembled as I typed.
I was desperate to know what her years had been like.
Then I couldn't sleep.
I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Eyes closed, I saw her. Eyes open, I saw her.
At three, I got up for a drink. Didn't help. At four, I paced the living room. Still nothing.
Finally, I gave up, sat by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and watched the sky lighten degree by degree.
My phone buzzed.
Charlie's investigation report. The file was incomplete. Luna had deliberately covered her tracks in London. But most of it focused on her time at the Royal Ballet after she'd become known.
I took a deep breath and opened the attachment. A brief summary sat at the top.
"Luna Crawford, current principal dancer with the Royal Ballet, London. Began performing with the company three years ago; previously taught at a subsidiary troupe."
"Investigation shows Crawford arrived in London six years ago. Early life extremely difficult. Besides Royal Ballet work, she held three part-time teaching positions at different dance studios while working at a café."
"Records gap in the middle, but three years ago she started in the corps. Small performances at first, then her talent was recognized. Fast-tracked to soloist, then rapidly promoted to principal dancer."
"Colleagues report that for a period she often slept with her child on the floor of the Royal Ballet break room, unable to afford nearby housing. Distant apartments made childcare too difficult."
"Financial situation improved after becoming a soloist. After making principal, invitations flooded in. Currently invited to Washington for a tour."
Below were photos and details. I stared at that tiny figure on stage, nausea rising in my gut.
My hand shook around the phone.
Sleeping on floors. Raising a child while training. Starting from zero, clawing her way to principal.
What had I been doing?
Drinking. Sitting in my office in a daze. Sitting in rooms she'd once lived in, pretending she was still there.
I'd known nothing.
I'd thought she'd disappeared, changed her name, hidden where I couldn't find her. I'd even assumed she was doing fine. I'd thought—
I didn't know a goddamn thing.
Another section appeared on screen:
"Regarding Sebastian Loran:
Mr. Loran is also a principal dancer with the Royal Ballet, partnering Crawford for three years.
They have co-starred in classic productions, including The Nutcracker and Swan Lake, to critical acclaim.
Company insiders report he has been extremely supportive of Luna and her daughter, and the two are close, though a romantic relationship cannot be confirmed. "
"Mr. Loran has mentioned Luna in multiple interviews as his 'most instinctive partner,' and shares rehearsal photos of them on social media. Rumors suggest cohabitation, but this remains unverified."
The man she called Seb.
He'd held Laila so naturally. My fist crashed into the armrest with a dull thud. I stared at those lines on screen, a boulder crushing my chest.
The earlier report said Luna had started performing with a child three years ago, which meant Laila could possibly...
I couldn't finish the thought. Wouldn't let myself believe it.
The anger lasted only minutes, then gave way to deeper guilt.
When she'd been at her most desperate and helpless, I hadn't been there.
Seb had.
The man I hated, yet had to acknowledge.
And it was because of me that she'd had those desperate times at all.
I set the phone down and covered my face with my hands.
I don't know how long had passed before the phone rang again. My secretary with today's schedule—nine a.m. board meeting, eleven a.m. client lunch, two-thirty p.m. finance meeting.
I checked the time. Eight-thirty.
I typed back, "Cancel everything today."
He called immediately. "Mr. King, this morning, there's a—"
"I said cancel it all." My voice was flat. "Contact me if there's an emergency."
Today I didn't want to do anything.
I tossed the phone aside and sat staring at the sapphire ring on the table. Last night before leaving, I'd slipped it into my pocket, waiting for the right moment. But in the end, I never took it out.
I had no right to give it to her.
I picked up the ring again, held it to the window light, and watched the tiny fractures of brilliance deep inside.
Six years ago, when I'd ordered this ring, all I'd thought was that she deserved it.
Never gave it to her.
This time I'd wanted to tell her I'd carried it for six years, that I'd thought of her every single day—but I couldn't say it. Because I'd done the same thing as six years ago. I'd hurt her.
The doorbell rang. Urgent, almost pounding.
I opened it. Chloe stood there, hair disheveled, eyes red and swollen—clearly hadn't slept all night. She shot me a withering glare and shouldered past me into the apartment.
"Are you insane?" I stared at her in disbelief.
"Luna told me not to come." Her voice was ice. "But I stayed up all night and realized I couldn't do it."
"I—"
"What the hell did you do to her?" Her voice shook. "You forced yourself on her, Cassian. What are you trying to accomplish?"
"I just wanted her not to leave again. I was going to apologize... I know I fucked up." I felt my strength drain away.
Chloe laughed bitterly. "Fucked up? You always say that! Six years and you haven't changed! You get emotional and lose control, and when you lose control, you hurt her! Do you have any idea how broken she looked last night?"
I couldn't breathe. Chloe's blunt verdict made me afraid to hear more.
Seeing my defeated state, Chloe crossed her arms and sat on the couch.
"Cassian." She stood again, voice softening slightly. "I know you're not good with feelings. But if you keep going down this path, you'll lose her forever."
"I hope you understand what I'm saying. And stop forcing her." The door slammed shut behind her.
I stood in the shadows.
I finally understood. Understood why she'd looked sick when I'd said "legal wife." To me, it meant ownership. To her, it was just another chain.
God, Cassian. What have you done?
I was still lost in thought when the knocking came again.
Chloe back for more?
I opened the door. Marco stood there instead. My place was quite the hot spot today.
His signature lazy smile was plastered across his face. "Hey, man. Why do you look like death?"
He waved a folder. "Your assistant said you canceled all your meetings today. A partner sent this over this morning, needs your signature today. I had nothing going on."
I stepped aside to let him in. "Had some things to handle today."
He set the folder on the table, then stood there, his gaze drifting down to the tablet open in front of me. He stopped.
I followed his line of sight. The tablet showed a photo from the report—Luna beaming on stage.
Marco stared at it. "Wait." He said. "This woman..."
"What?"
He didn't answer right away, studied the photo for a few seconds, then broke into an admiring smile.
"I saw her in London. Last year, a partner dragged me to a performance. I remember it clearly. She was incredible. After it ended, everyone at our table stood and applauded." He paused. "What was her name again?"
"Luna Crawford." My heart skipped a beat. I'd been so close to finding her.
Marco froze, then looked at me. "Wait, this is the woman you've been searching for six years?"
I nodded silently.
"Jesus..." Marco looked at the photo again. "If only I'd paid more attention to the cast list."
"It's my fault." I pressed my temples.
Marco leaned forward, voice turning serious. "But honestly, Cassian. Seeing her on stage versus in a photo—totally different."
I looked up at him.
"In the photo, she's just smiling." Marco pointed at the screen. "But on stage, she was luminous. You know that feeling? When she danced Giselle—the naive girl in Act One, the desperate spirit in Act Two—completely different people. She pulled the entire theater into her world."
"She's someone born for the stage. On stage, she's truly alive. That kind of vitality—you can't fake it."
Vitality.
The word pierced me like a needle.
What did she look like on stage? When she danced Giselle—that naive girl, that desperate spirit—what was she like?
I didn't know.
I only knew what she looked like at home. Sitting quietly. Smiling politely.
That wasn't her at all.
That was the role her mother had taught her to play.
And I'd demanded she keep playing it.
"Cassian?" Marco was watching me. "You okay?"
I snapped back, realized my hands were shaking.
I'd wanted her to fit the CEO's wife image. Never asked what she wanted to be.
And after leaving me, she'd finally started living as herself.
"Marco," I spoke up.
"Yeah?"
"If a woman never dares to be herself around you." My breathing grew heavy. "Does that mean you don't deserve her at all?"
Marco was quiet for a few seconds.
Then he stood and clapped my shoulder.
"That's a question for her," he said. "But if you're thinking about it at all, you're ahead of most men who never do. And at least right now, you still have a chance."
He headed for the door, turned back halfway to grab the folder.
"Don't forget the board meeting tomorrow."
The door closed again.
The tablet still glowed, Luna smiling on screen.
I stared at that smile for a long time.
A stage smile. For the audience. Not for me.
What was her real smile like? When she was truly happy, what curve did her eyes make?
I didn't know.
Six years, and I'd never truly seen her.
So that night when she'd said "I'll hate you," her eyes had held more despair than anger.
Despair because she thought I'd never be able to see the real her.
I stood and pulled back the curtains. Morning sunlight blazed bright across the floor, as if everything were normal. But I knew something had changed.
I'd thought I'd already changed. But just now I'd finally understood. I was a complete fool.
I sat on the couch for a long time before finally picking up my phone and calling my assistant.
"Find all the top preschool programs in Washington—independent teachers, nutritionists, everything. Send me the best options." I paused. "I'll send you a list of children's supplies. Purchase according to the categories and have them delivered."
After hanging up, I messaged Charlie, told him to stop investigating Luna and Laila.
No matter Laila's background, I would treat her as my own child, try to be part of her life.
Chloe was right. I'd never truly known Luna.
But I wanted to know her. With my own heart.
I didn't know if she'd give me that chance.
But this time, I wouldn't use force.
I would learn how to truly love her.
Not possess, not control, not demand she meet my expectations.
Just love her.
Let her be herself.