Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cassian
I could feel Luna trembling slightly in my arms.
I bent down and scooped her up. She stiffened, her fingers instinctively clutching my shirt collar, but she didn't push me away.
"Cassian..." Her voice was soft. "I can walk on my own."
"I know," I murmured. "But right now, I want to carry you."
She went quiet, her head resting against my shoulder, her breath warm against my neck. I carried her inside, her fingers tight around the back of my neck, like she needed the anchor.
I looked down at her. The tears had stopped, but her eyes were red-rimmed, lashes still wet with unshed drops.
Inside, I set her on the sofa. She curled up, knees to her chest, like a wounded animal. She huddled in the corner, arms wrapped tight around her legs, staring blankly out the floor-to-ceiling windows at Washington's dull night sky.
I headed to the kitchen, poured a glass of warm water, and added two lemon slices. Not too hot. I handed it to her.
She took it, cradling it in both hands. Her fingertips brushed the warm glass, snapping her back to reality. She shivered faintly.
"Drink some."
She sipped, then just held it, silent. The cup shook in her grip, rippling the water's surface.
I sat beside her. Crickets chirped faintly outside. The living room was so quiet, I could hear the clock ticking on the wall.
"She's gone," I said after a while, pulling her into my arms. "Luna, look at me. She's gone. No one's here to judge you anymore. No one's here to humiliate you."
She gasped like she could finally breathe, her gaze meeting mine before darting away.
"My mom was always like that."
Her voice was faint, like she was talking about a stranger. That tone hit me hard—how many letdowns did it take for someone to talk about their own mother like that?
"When I was three, she signed me up for ballet. Didn't ask if I wanted to. Just told me I had to." She stared at the water in her cup, fingers tracing the rim. "Said it'd make me her pride and joy."
I listened, stayed silent. She didn't need words from me right now. Just my presence.
"I was little. Didn't get what pride meant." Her eyes went distant. "Just knew I couldn't stop. If I didn't win first place, she'd give me this icy stare that could freeze you solid."
"One time, half my toenail ripped off. Blood everywhere. She glanced and said, 'It's fine. It'll grow back.'"
It stung like a knife. I reached out and gently took her other hand. It was cold, like it never warmed up. My thumb rubbed her skin, trying to share my heat.
"Cassian, you know?" She looked up, eyes glistening, but no tears fell.
"For a second there, I felt like I was ten again. Practicing pirouettes for The Nutcracker, ankle swollen like a balloon. The doctor said rest. Know what my mom said?"
"She didn't ask if you were okay?" My voice came out rough.
She shook her head.
"She just stood at the studio door, staring coldly. 'A Crawford doesn't get to be a cripple. If you can't dance perfectly, you don't belong in this house.'"
She twisted her lips in a bitter smirk. It hurt more than tears.
My heart clenched like an invisible fist had grabbed it, squeezing the air out.
"Luna..."
"She only cared if I was useful."
I squeezed her hand. It trembled in mine.
"Then I got it." She continued. "To her, I'm not a daughter. I'm a product."
"You're not a product," I said, voice hoarse. "You're a person."
She turned to me, eyes complicated.
"When we first got married, I thought I'd finally escaped." She hesitated, then said it.
It twisted my gut. I'd shattered her fresh start.
"I'm sorry." I pulled her closer. She didn't pull away. "I didn't get it before. I was a fucking idiot."
She stayed quiet, sniffed.
"Luna, I promise," I said. "It won't happen again."
After a long pause, she murmured, "Mm-hmm."
It was soft, but enough to ease the tension in me. Her breathing steadied, heartbeat slowing.
"You hungry?" I asked, trying to lighten things up.
She blinked, caught off guard.
"That dinner tonight... You barely ate." I added. "Too busy talking. Food went cold."
She thought, nodded. "A little."
I got up, hit the kitchen. Opened the fridge, scanned. Steak? Too heavy after her emotional rollercoaster. Fruit? Too basic, not comforting enough.
My eyes hit the freezer. Chloe mentioned Luna craved sweets under stress, but she always held back for her dancer's body.
Ice cream. Vanilla, from when Chloe visited. Cheese sticks, chips, even a box of colorful macarons. Laila begged for them, then crashed before eating.
I grabbed it all, poured milk, and carried it back.
She stared as I set it on the coffee table.
"This..."
"Junk food." I sat, popped the lid, scooped some, and handed it over. "Stuff you wanted as a kid but couldn't have."
She took the spoon, tasted it. Her eyes lit up a bit. Subtle—lips curved, brows lifted, like a spark ignited.
"Good?"
She nodded, dug in faster, less hesitant.
I scooped some too. We sat there, eating ice cream, crunching chips now and then.
The room was quiet, just spoons clinking and chewing. Moonlight streamed in, bathing everything in calm.
"So good. Mom only bought me a cone when she was in a good mood." I stared at the melting scoop, memories dragging me back to that damp, dim childhood.
"You as a kid," she said, mouth full of ice cream. "They didn't let you have this either?"
I froze, spoon mid-air.
"You've probably heard. I'm a bastard."
She stopped, looked at me.
I smiled faintly, took a deep breath.
Then leaned back, ripping open my polished, unbreakable shell for the first time to anyone but Chloe.
"My mom was a single mom." I scooped ice cream but didn't eat, staring at the white blob. "Not the strong, independent kind. She waited for that man—my dad—to claim her, marry her."
I didn't know why I spilled it. Maybe the night's raw honesty. Maybe her confession made me owe one.
She set her spoon down, hand on my thigh.
"My dad, Robert King. Big shot in American business, you know." I held her hand, our warmth mixing. "He had his real wife, his real kids. Mom was just a fling he remembered sometimes. Once or twice a year, a few hours, then gone. After, she'd sit by the window, staring till dark."
Luna said nothing, just squeezed my hand.
"Neighborhood kids pointed, called me 'the homewrecker's son.' Mom heard, just hugged me and cried, told me to endure. Said if I was good, excelled, Dad would take us home."
I let out a bitter laugh, the taste seeping from my bones.
"Till the end, on her deathbed, she begged to see him."
"He didn't come. The day she died, he was at a charity gala with his wife. I stood by her bed, holding her hand, watching her go cold. She never got him."
Luna's eyes reddened. She listened quietly.
"Then they took me into the King family. But the torment there was worse than the slums."
My voice roughened. I leaned forward and set the ice cream down.
"Stuff went missing. Room trashed. Sometimes no food left for me. Once, a dead rat was in my backpack."
"Assholes..." she whispered.
"Eventually, I stopped caring," I said. "They messed with me, I hit back, even if Robert might kill me. They backed off. I stopped talking much."
Air in the room hung still, just the fake flames flickering in the fireplace.
"In that house, only Chloe was ever kind to me."
"Then Robert saw my knack for business." My tone lightened. "Finally looked at me straight. Gave me the company, on one condition: marriage."
I met Luna's eyes, full of regret. "So I married you."
"At first, I saw it as the smartest deal—quiet, elegant, no messy ties. Thought it was just business. I was an idiot."
"Truth is, I clung to the stability you gave me, but my wounds made me deny it. I downplayed it, hurt you to prove I was still in control."
"Cassian..." She hugged me gently.
"I'm a total coward, Luna. Scared to admit I love you." I hugged back, like she was my world.
"So I told myself: no feelings, no investment, no love."
"But when you left, that empty bedroom hit me. I couldn't live without you. I'd fallen hard, deeper than I knew."
She reached up, fingers tracing my brow. No walls in her eyes anymore—just empathy, soft and shared.
Two souls, torn up by family, finally connected in the ruins.
"So that's why you hunted me like a madman for six years?" she asked softly.
"Not just six." I took her hand, kissed it reverently. "I'll spend the next sixty making up for it. Luna, I promise, from now on, you'll have all the security you need. You don't have to be Mrs. King or a Crawford daughter. Just Luna. I love you. You make me feel alive."
All masks off, I bared my raw self, waiting for her verdict.
Luna looked up. Moonlight lit her face, eyes shining with tears and light.
Then she reached out and wrapped her arms around my neck.
She kissed me. Lips soft, tasting of sweet ice cream and salty tears. Firm, like she was saying she was here.
I froze for a second, then pulled her close, deepened it. Tongues tangled, breaths mixed. Her fingers gripped my hair tightly.
I lifted her and carried her to the bathroom. Warm yellow light flickered, dreamlike.
I turned on the faucet. Water rushed, steam rising, fogging the mirror.
Clothes hit the floor one by one. She leaned against the tile. I kissed her neck, collarbone, and chest. She gasped, nails digging into my shoulders.
Water cascaded over us. I lifted her hips, eased in slowly—her warmth enveloping me, tight and slick, every inch drawing a shudder from us both.
She gasped, her inner walls clenching rhythmically around me as I sank deeper, the delicious friction sending sparks of pleasure up my spine.
Her legs wrapped around my waist, heels digging into my back, urging me further with each deliberate thrust.
I rocked into her steadily, savoring the way her body yielded and gripped, wet sounds mixing with the shower's rush. She moaned low and breathless, nails scraping down my shoulders, pulling me impossibly closer as our rhythms synced in heated urgency.
No rush this time, just slow, deep rhythm. I kissed her temple. "You're beautiful, Luna. You have no idea."
She clung, crying out as she came, body shaking. I followed, holding her tight.
Water still poured. She pressed close, arms around my neck, like she wanted to melt into me.
After, I wrapped her in a robe, carried her to bed. She nestled against me, fingers tracing circles on my chest.
The rush faded, leaving just our tangled breaths.
I held Luna, her head on my arm. City lights dimmed outside, but her warmth felt real enough to bring tears.
I kissed her forehead, voice distant in the quiet night.
"After this Washington show, let's take Laila to the south of France for a bit?" I said with a genuine smile. "Lavender fields everywhere. No one knows us. I can teach her to ride horses, you can dance in the sun..."
I pictured it unfolding like a painting—the only destination I'd craved in life: a real home.
Luna leaned into me, body rising with each breath. She didn't answer right away. In the dark, she just hugged me tighter, almost desperately, like clinging to the last bit of warmth. Or saying goodbye.
I sensed her unease and held her firmer.
Probably tonight's mess, I told myself.