Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Cassian
The conference room AC was blasting, cold air pouring straight down from the vents overhead. I didn't feel a thing.
Berkley, our CFO, was running through last quarter's numbers. He'd been with the company for fifteen years, one of the few who'd tell me straight to my face when a plan sucked.
He stood in front of the projection screen, pointing at colorful charts, talking fast.
"So North American revenue growth hit eight-point-three percent, but costs climbed four points alongside. The main driver was..."
I nodded. "Mm-hmm."
He kept going. I stared at the projection, watched those numbers blur in front of me. Nothing stuck.
My head was somewhere else.
Luna came downstairs this morning in a light gray sweater, hair thrown up in a messy bun with a few strands falling loose around her face. She went to the kitchen for water. I'd just stepped out of the study. We met in the hallway.
She gave me a small nod. "Morning." Then she grabbed her things and headed out. The door closed softly behind her.
I stood there, staring at that door. Stood there for maybe ten seconds. Then Laila came running down the stairs and tilted her head back to look at me.
"Did Mommy leave?"
"Yeah."
She nodded and ran into the living room to play with her blocks.
I stood by the door, suddenly unsure what to do with myself. Work? Too early.
I went to the kitchen, poured Laila some milk, cut up fruit, and put it on the coffee table.
She glanced up at me. "Thank you." Then back to her blocks.
I sat on the other end of the couch, watching her. That little golden curly head. Tiny fingers gripping blocks, stacking them one by one. She worked with such concentration, lips slightly pursed, muttering to herself now and then.
"This one goes here... no, it'll fall... put it here instead..."
I watched for a long time.
Until my phone alarm went off, reminding me I had to leave for the office.
"...so my recommendation is we pull back investment in North America in the third quarter and pivot toward Europe. What do you think?"
The sudden silence snapped me back. Everyone in the conference room was staring at me.
"Yeah," I said. "Email it to me. I'll review it."
Berkley's mouth opened, but he said nothing. Sat down.
Next up was marketing. More data, more charts. I kept nodding.
"Cassian?" Someone was calling my name.
I looked up. Marco. He sat beside me, twirling a pen, eyes full of mockery.
"What?"
"How's the marketing proposal?"
I glanced at the projection. Wall of text. I hadn't absorbed a single word.
"Good. Email it to me."
The marketing director nodded and sat down.
Finally, the last presentation ended. Berkley said, "Meeting adjourned," and everyone filed out.
I gathered my things, about to leave. Marco caught up, slinging an arm over my shoulder.
"Hey, got a minute?"
I looked at him. Didn't refuse.
We walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows at the end of the hall overlooking the city. Sunlight poured through the glass, warm against my skin. Marco pulled out a cigarette and offered me one. I waved it off. He lit his own.
"You know what they're saying around the office?" He exhaled smoke, lips quirking.
"What?"
"The ice king smiles in meetings now." He raised an eyebrow. "Multiple people saw it—you smiled when Berkley talked about rising costs. Even when marketing mentioned budget overruns, you smiled."
I froze. Did I?
"Yes." Marco read my mind, nodding emphatically. "More than once. Your nickname's changed. Not 'ice king' anymore. Now it's Mr. Smile."
My mouth twitched. "They don't have enough work."
But the nickname didn't sound half bad. I smiled again. God, what was wrong with me?
Marco clicked his tongue.
"Okay, I get it." He leaned closer. "Things heating up on the home front?"
I wanted to deny it, but I knew my expression had already betrayed everything.
Marco clapped my shoulder. "Good. Treat her right. Not like before."
"I know. Go follow up on that South American project. Stop gossiping."
He glared at me, then left.
I stood by the window, looking out at the city. My reflection in the glass showed my mouth curved upward, smiling at nothing.
But I couldn't help it.
Because my head was full of images from these past few days—Luna and Laila playing together in the yard, sunlight streaming through the windows, falling across them both.
I'd been waiting six years for that picture.
Come to think of it, yesterday I heard Laila tell Luna she wanted to visit the Christmas village.
I turned back to my office and started working through today's files, planning to head home early to ask them about it. Luna didn't have a performance tonight either. She should be home early.
Usually, these files took all afternoon, but today I blazed through them. My pen barely stopped moving.
When my secretary came in with coffee, I told him to take the signed documents. He paused.
"Boss, do you have other plans tonight?"
"No." I didn't look up. "Push tonight's meetings if you can. If not, have Marco cover for me."
He took the files and nodded. "Okay."
I checked the time. Only four. But I couldn't sit still anymore.
I closed my laptop, grabbed my coat, and walked out of the office.
Not only was I not working late, but I was leaving two hours early.
Something that essentially didn't exist in my vocabulary. But today I couldn't stay another second.
I drove the low-key black Bentley, weaving through Washington's congested beltway traffic.
On the way home, I detoured to a pastry shop. Laila said she loved their cream puffs—Chloe had taken her there before. I also got the tiramisu Luna liked.
The car pulled into the garage. I grabbed the bags and headed toward the door.
Then I stopped. The elation drained away instantly at the sight of the person standing at my front door.
Sebastian Loran.
He wore a simple T-shirt and jeans, looked clean and vibrant with that relaxed artist energy that made me unreasonably irritated. He held a bouquet of flowers, waiting for something.
My steps faltered. My fingers tightened. The plastic bag crinkled softly.
Seb turned his head. He didn't look surprised to see me. Instead he gave me an easy smile.
"Hello, Mr. King."
I took a deep breath. Adjusted my tie.
"Hello." My voice came out relatively calm.
He stood by the door, hadn't rung the bell yet. The flowers were pale pink roses, elegantly wrapped. Maybe a dozen or so.
"Here for Luna?" I climbed the steps.
"Yeah," he said naturally. "Luna left something at the theater. I was passing by, thought I'd drop it off. Also made plans with Laila. We're going for that Texas steak she's been talking about nonstop."
And he'd brought flowers too.
Something churned in my stomach. Sour and bitter. I pushed it down.
The door swung open just then. A small figure rushed from the living room.
"Seb!"
Laila squealed and launched herself at him like a tiny cannonball. Seb crouched down, caught her, laughing as he lifted her up and spun her around.
"Miss me?"
"Yes!" Laila wrapped her arms around his neck, giggling. "What took you so long?"
I stood in the doorway watching this scene. In that moment, bitterness spread up my throat.
Laila smiled at him so brightly, that kind of unguarded trust didn't belong to me. The way Seb held her was so practiced, like he'd done it countless times. They had an understanding between them.
"Cassian!" Laila suddenly turned to look at me, waving her little hand. "Seb's taking me to dinner! Steak! And we're going out after."
"Oh, okay," I said, trying to sound normal. "That's nice."
Seb set Laila down and handed her the flowers. "These are for your mom. Have her put them in a vase."
Laila took them, sniffed. "They smell good! I'll give them to Mommy!"
She ran upstairs, clutching the flowers, footsteps pounding, shouting as she went. "Mommy! Seb's here!"
Just me and Seb left at the door. I felt my temples throbbing.
Six years ago, I probably would've had security throw Seb out.
Silence stretched between us.
He spoke first. "How's she been doing?"
"Good," I said. "Laila's good too."
He nodded.
More silence.
I looked at his profile. Fire burned inside me.
But I said nothing.
I wouldn't interfere with Luna's social life. I'd promised.
Footsteps on the stairs. Luna came down, Laila behind her. She'd already changed into her coat and had her little backpack on.
Seeing Seb, Luna's mouth curved slightly.
"Sorry, I was in the bathroom. Didn't hear you."
"No problem." Seb took Laila's hand. "Car's outside."
Luna nodded, crouched down to adjust Laila's coat collar. Laila was already impatiently tugging Seb's hand toward the door.
"Bye, Mommy! Bye, Cassian!"
I stood in the entryway, watching them walk out. Seb held Laila's little hand. Laila bounced along, chattering about something.
"Wait." I heard myself speak.
They stopped, looked back at me.
I walked over, crouched in front of Laila. "Let me check your backpack."
Laila obediently turned around. I opened her backpack and looked inside.
Tissues. Wet wipes. Her pink water bottle, half empty. Some cookies, the kind Chloe bought.
Not enough.
I pulled out the cream puffs I'd just bought, tucked in a box. Got out a small bottle of water, replaced her half-empty one.
"This water's room temperature. Drink this instead." I put the new bottle in, checked her coat. "The restaurant will have heating. You don't need to wear so much. If you get hot, take it off and have Seb hold it for you."
Laila stood still, letting me fuss.
I finished checking her backpack and looked at her hair. The braid was a bit loose—Luna had done it this morning.
I reached out, then pulled back.
"Your hair... want Mommy to redo it?"
Laila touched her head. "No need! It's fine like this!"
She stood on her tiptoes and suddenly leaned in.
A soft, damp kiss landed on my cheek.
"Thank you, Cassian! You're so nice!"
She kissed me and ran, pulling Seb's hand toward the door. Seb glanced back at me, his expression complicated, like he hadn't expected this from me.
Then they disappeared through the door.
I crouched there, hand touching the spot on my cheek where she'd kissed me.
That tiny kiss, carrying the scent of milk, like a piece of candy melting away all that sourness from before.
I slowly stood up and turned around.
Luna stood at the end of the entryway, leaning against the doorframe, watching me.
Her expression was complicated. Surprised, puzzled, but she was also smiling.
"You..." She started, then stopped.
I waited.
"What did you put in her bag?"
"Cream puffs." I handed her the bag. "From that place she likes. And tiramisu for you."
She paused, took it, looking somewhat surprised.
Wind blew through, carrying the scent of hydrangeas from the yard. She stood there, backlit, her whole figure gilded in soft gold.
"So..." I gathered my courage. "Have you eaten dinner yet?"
She blinked. "Not yet."
"Want to eat together?" I glanced toward the kitchen. "I'll cook."
She looked at me, surprise flashing in her eyes.
"You can cook?"
"Learned a bit," I said. "Might not be great, but it should be... edible."
She fell silent for a few seconds.
My fingers clenched, waiting for her answer.
She nodded. "Okay."
I took off my expensive suit jacket, removed my cufflinks, and rolled up my white shirtsleeves.
In the kitchen, I faced the ingredients on the cutting board, feeling a bit nervous. Because Luna sat across from me.
Three years ago, I'd hired a private instructor and practiced at home for over a month. Knife skills, heat control, seasoning—learned it all. But then I realized eating alone wasn't much fun, so I stopped. Sometimes on weekends, I'd pan-fry a steak, but just to get by.
Luna sat at the open kitchen's island bar, holding a glass of water. She watched me like I was an alien as I expertly handled the premium wagyu, then started cutting asparagus.
"When did you learn to use a kitchen?" Disbelief filled her tone.
I slid the steak into the pan. The sizzle of fat filled the quiet room.
"Three years ago." I didn't turn around, focused on monitoring the heat.
"Back then, I had constant insomnia. So I thought I'd try learning to make things.
At first, it was terrible, even stray cats wouldn't sniff it.
But I thought... if you ever came back, I couldn't just feed you takeout forever. "
Luna said nothing.
I arranged the cut asparagus on the plate and sprinkled a thin layer of sea salt.
"These past years, I've learned a lot of things I used to find boring, Luna. Because I kept thinking, if God was really willing to give me a chance to make amends, I didn't want to reach that moment and realize all I could do for you was write checks."
The steak was done. So was the pasta. I plated them, drizzled sauce over top, and set it in front of her.
"Of course, I'm not saying this to make you forgive me. I just wanted to cook you dinner."
Luna only said thank you, then looked down at the perfectly presented food, cut a small piece, and put it in her mouth.
"How is it?" I watched her nervously.
"Not bad." She assessed, her long lashes trembling once, then cut a second piece.
I leaned against the opposite side of the island, watching her eat with her head bowed, feeling a long-absent satisfaction rise in my chest. This moment felt more powerful than closing any business deal.
She ate slowly, chewing each bite thoroughly. The light fell on her face, softening her features.
"Luna," I spoke after sitting down.
She looked up.
"Thank you," I said.
"For what?"
"For... being willing to sit here." I paused. "Willing to eat my cooking."
She looked at me, her eyes softening slightly.
"Cassian." She said.
"Yeah?"
"You've changed."
I froze. Then I smiled.
"Have I?"
She nodded.
"Then I'll keep cooking for you."
She looked at me, didn't speak.
But her mouth curved.
That smile was faint, but enough to carry me through the whole evening.
Luna didn't contradict that "keep cooking."
Just her being there made heat coil low in my stomach.