Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
Cassian
I was a fucking joke.
I'd bent over backward trying to make Luna happy, even accepted that Laila wasn't mine. But she'd been planning her escape from day one.
And damn it, the thought of losing Luna and Laila ripped through my chest like a blade.
I didn't go home.
Was it even home? That house where I'd lived with Luna and Laila for over a month—it was never mine. Never had been. I was just some guy crashing there, a stranger they let get close.
I pulled onto the main road and drove. No destination. The lights outside streaked across the glass, too bright, cutting into my eyes. My head kept replaying the scene—Luna in the dance studio, back against the wall, fighting to keep the tears from falling.
She'd said, "I'm leaving."
The steering wheel slipped in my grip. I jerked it hard, the car lurching onto a side street. Tires scraped the curb, screaming. I stopped, collapsed over the wheel, gasping.
Laila was my daughter. And I'd known nothing.
When I started the car again, I found myself outside that house. Through the first-floor window, I could see the living room light still on.
I sat in the car, staring at that window.
Would Laila wake up and miss me? Would she ask her mother where Cassian had gone?
I pushed the car door open and walked to the front door. My hand touched the handle. Didn't turn it. The door was unlocked. I could hear faint sounds inside—Luna's footsteps, pacing in the living room.
What was she doing? Packing? Getting ready to leave?
I pulled my hand back.
Turned around. Got in the car. Drove away.
In the rearview mirror, that light grew smaller and smaller until it became a dot and disappeared into the night.
I went back to my old apartment. The place I hadn't been to in over a month. Usually, when I was hurting, I'd go there and drink myself numb, bottle by bottle.
When I pushed the door open, the air was cold. Cold as a morgue, made me shiver.
I walked straight into the living room and threw my keys on the coffee table. The sound was loud. The glasses on the table rattled.
Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust. The curtains were drawn. The room was so dark, only a sliver of streetlight squeezed through the curtain gap, falling on the floor in long shadows.
I didn't turn on the lights. Just kept walking. My shoes made dull thuds on the floor.
My phone rang, shrill and insistent. Again and again. I pulled it out numbly and saw Chloe's name. I hung up. Then turned it off.
I yanked the curtains open and went to the liquor cabinet. Grabbed a bottle of whiskey, twisted off the cap, and drank straight from it.
For over a month, I'd been someone else.
Braiding hair. Making breakfast. Sitting on the floor playing pretend.
I thought I'd changed. I thought those changes were good enough to make her stay.
But I was wrong.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, Washington's nightscape glittered with dizzying brilliance. Streaming headlights converged into cold rivers, weaving through neon lights, but none of it reached this silent penthouse apartment.
I slumped onto the cold floor, back against the couch. The expensive suede fabric pressed against my spine but gave no warmth.
The whiskey in my hand was nearly gone in minutes. My fingernails scraped against the glass bottle, making a harsh squeaking sound that tore at what little sanity I had left. The burn traveled down my throat. My stomach lurched, but I didn't throw up.
Liars. All of them.
My head was still clear. I started replaying everything.
I remembered clearly that when Luna said she was leaving, her voice shook, but her tone was certain.
She'd lied to me. From the very beginning. From the first day, she'd been planning to leave.
Looking back now, I should've noticed. Like when I talked about taking her and Laila on vacation, or when I'd plan our future, she never actually committed. Never said yes.
But I'd been a clown, drowning in my fantasy of happiness, never thinking deeper.
She never planned to stay. Never planned to tell me Laila was my daughter.
The bottle was empty. I hurled it at the floor.
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the empty room. Shards scattered. One piece bounced up and sliced my ankle, a thin cut. Blood seeped out, warm, running down. I didn't feel it.
This whole month, I'd practically ripped my heart out and handed it to her. I thought she'd at least look at it.
And what happened? Not only did she not see it, but she'd been planning her killing blow the whole time, ready to sever every connection between us.
And Chloe. My sister, the one I'd relied on my whole life, had never been on my side either. She'd watched me play the fool, performing my terrible impression of "good father" and "good husband" in front of them.
She never thought about how much I was hurting. I was her fucking brother!
No one thought about me. No one thought about what I'd missed, what I'd lost, how much it hurt.
I leaned back against the couch and closed my eyes.
Laila's face flashed through my mind. At the concert, she'd looked at me with eyes brighter than stars. She'd said, "I wish you were my dad."
When she said that, I didn't know she was my child.
Now I knew. But it was too late. She was leaving. Luna was taking her away—to Chicago, New York, LA. Anywhere I couldn't find them.
I clenched my fists. My nails dug into my palms.
I yanked off my hoodie in frustration—the one I'd worn to Laila's concert today. The fabric still carried her scent, that faint milky sweetness mixed with the sugary smell of popcorn.
The hoodie hit the floor with a sharp sound.
I froze. Reached down and felt the pocket. Pulled out something hard.
Laila must've slipped it in when I wasn't looking during the concert.
A cheap plastic pink hair clip with a wobbly plastic pearl stuck on top. Next to it was a crumpled piece of folded paper with a crayon drawing—three figures. On the left, a tall dark silhouette. In the middle, a little person in a dress. On the right, a woman holding the little person's hand.
On the back, in Laila's still-learning spelling, written one careful stroke at a time: "For Cassian. I love you."
I stared at those words. My heart stopped for a beat, then hammered wildly.
I recognized this pink hair clip. It was Laila's most treasured possession. She'd told me she bought it on a London street corner with the allowance she'd saved for half a month, a gift for her "future dad."
My fingertips trembled uncontrollably.
This cheap little plastic thing I normally wouldn't even glance at now burned in my palm.
I suddenly realized. Laila hadn't lied to me.
In this whole mess of lies and games, only her love was pure.
She loved me completely. I'd treated her like my own daughter, and she'd long ago made me her dad.
I remembered once when I picked her up, she'd asked me, "Cassian, what does it mean to love someone?"
The setting sun had cast warm light on her hair.
I'd thought about it. "Loving someone means wanting them to be happy, and wanting to give them that happiness yourself."
She'd giggled. "Mommy said the same thing. You're really smart."
Those words now boomeranged back and hit me. Had I wanted Luna to be happy, or had I wanted me to be happy?
That question threw my thoughts into deeper chaos. Then I heard a sound at the door.
The doorbell rang. Urgent. Loud.
I didn't move. The doorbell kept ringing, then pounding on the door.
"Cassian! Open up!" Chloe's voice came from outside. "I know you're in there!"
I stood up, steps unsteady, and walked to the door. Pulled it open. Chloe stood there, face grim. She pushed past me, bringing in a gust of cold air, and slammed the door behind her.
Seeing her made me feel sick all over again. I turned and sat back down, picked up the bottle, and took a drink.
"Cassian, besides breaking things and getting wasted, can you do anything else?"
She didn't turn on the lights either, letting the outside glow carve the room into patches of light and shadow. She looked at the glass shards covering the floor and the ridiculous pink hair clip in my hand. Not an ounce of sympathy in her eyes.
"Get out," I said, voice low and rough, like a hangover personified.
"Why should I?" Chloe laughed coldly, kicking aside bottle remnants at her feet. "You think you're the victim here? Think the whole world betrayed you? That we're all heartless liars?"
Her words reignited the rage I'd just barely suppressed.
I snapped my head up, bloodshot eyes locked on her. "Didn't you hide it from me? That's my daughter! Chloe, I'm your brother!"
Seeing me nearly unhinged, Chloe did something rare—she mocked me with sharp precision.
She bent down, eye level with me, and said each word slowly. "What right do you have to be angry, Cassian?"
"Luna was pregnant and wandering the rainy streets of London. She slept on cold rehearsal room floors to save money for formula. Who caused that?"
"But I didn't know!" I shot up, my body swaying violently from the alcohol and emotion. I was practically roaring. "You saw how good I've been to them! If I'd known back then—"
"If you'd known, you would've brought them back? Protected and taken care of them?" Chloe's eyes held a hint of mockery. "You think that's what Luna wanted?"
I choked. A flash of guilt hit me where it hurt. But I still fought back. "What about now? I've changed, and I'm willing to support her career!"
"You think a few months can erase six years of damage?"
Chloe's simple question blocked every word in my throat.
"Cassian, you know why Luna was afraid to tell you the truth?"
I said nothing. I held my breath.
"Because she was scared." Chloe's voice dropped. "She was afraid you'd fight her for custody of Laila. She was afraid you'd use the child to control her, just like you used marriage to trap her back then."
I froze.