Chapter 99

DEREK

Cassandra had been floating around the estate like a tragic heroine in a stage play—barefoot, silent, draped in gauzy robes like she’d wandered out of some gothic poem. She made a show of being too weak to eat, too dazed to sleep, too devastated to speak in full sentences.

More than once, I found her reclining dramatically across the chaise in the sunroom, a forgotten teacup beside her, eyes misty and distant, like she was waiting for someone to ask what sorrow weighed her down.

No one did.

At least, not after the first few days.

But she wasn’t doing it for them—she was doing it for me.

Every sigh was just loud enough for me to hear. Every flinch, every half-glance as I passed in the hallway, was calculated. She wasn’t grieving. She was waiting for me to fall back into orbit. To feel guilt. To feel protective. To feel something.

And damn it, maybe I did.

Even if the pregnancy had been sudden—unexpected—and even if something about it didn’t sit right with me, I hadn’t wanted this.

Not the loss. Not the silence that followed. Not the way I kept waking up and wondering if this was the version of Cassandra I was going to have to live with forever—fragile, clinging, waiting for someone to put her back together.

But I knew she was hurting.

And even if things between us had grown twisted and fragile, I couldn’t just leave her like that.

So I planned a hot balloon ride. Quietly. No staff, no pack, no public appearances. Just something soft. Something that would remind her the world still had beautiful things in it.

When I picked her up, she was dressed in cream and gold, the same colors as the early morning sky. Her eyes were rimmed with kohl, too heavy for this time of day, and her smile turned brittle when she saw me.

“You’re being mysterious,” she said as she stepped into the car. “Are we going somewhere?”

“You’ll see,” I said, keeping my hands steady on the wheel.

Halfway through the drive, she turned her head toward the window and spoke.

“I had another appointment yesterday,” she said softly. “The OB confirmed… everything. But she also said I’ll still be able to have children. When the time’s right.”

I glanced at her. She was watching me out of the corner of her eye, waiting for a reaction.

I nodded once. “That’s good.”

She gave a faint laugh, breathy and too light. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say, Cassandra?” I asked, my voice lower than I meant it to be. “That I’m ready to try again? That we pretend none of this happened?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

When we arrived at the launch site, the balloon was already being prepped. Yellow and white silk rippled against the wind, rising slowly into the shape of something weightless and wild.

The field stretched wide in every direction, hills rolling away from us like ripples on a calm lake. The crew greeted us, adjusted straps, ran through safety checks.

Cassandra’s eyes widened as she realized what we were doing.

“A hot air balloon,” she breathed. “You remembered.”

I saw something flicker in her gaze—surprise, joy. “I didn’t think you were listening when I told you I’d always wanted to go on one.”

“I was listening,” I said.

She reached for my hand and I let her take it.

The lift-off was smooth, the ground drifting away as we rose into open air. The sky was soft and pink at the edges, morning sun spilling across the land like honey.

The world got smaller beneath us—houses like matchboxes, trees like sprigs of parsley. Cassandra laughed as the wind caught her hair.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, gripping the edge of the basket. “I feel like I can breathe again.”

She pointed out landmarks she recognized, took a few photos on her phone, and even leaned her head against my shoulder for a bit. We sipped cider from the thermos I brought and watched a flock of birds wheel below us in a sharp, dancing arc.

But then something shifted.

I felt it in the way she started fidgeting. How she kept glancing at me, then at the horizon, then back again. Her laughter grew tighter, her smiles didn’t quite reach her eyes.

It was like she was waiting for something.

And whatever it was… I wasn’t giving it to her.

By the time we began our slow descent, her silence had returned in full force.

She didn’t say another word as the balloon dropped gently toward the meadow. When we landed, she stepped out of the basket and smoothed her dress like it had personally offended her. Her lips were pressed into a line so sharp it looked carved.

“Didn’t you enjoy it?” I asked quietly, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“It was fine,” she said, her voice flat. “Thank you.”

She walked ahead to the car.

And I stood there in the field, alone, trying to figure out what the hell I’d missed.

CASSANDRA

I was supposed to be proposed to.

The moment I saw the balloon, I knew. This was it. A grand gesture.

Romantic. Personal. The kind of thing you tell the press about years later. He took me in a hot air balloon. I said yes above the clouds.

It was perfect.

He remembered what I said. About how I’d always wanted to try one. That I dreamed of floating above the earth with the man I loved.

I had told him that story all those years ago for a reason—because I was planting a seed. Because I wanted him to remember. Because I thought if he cared about me even a little, he’d understand what I meant.

And when he booked this trip… I thought maybe he had.

Especially after I told him what I thought he’d want to hear. That I could still have children. That my body was strong. That this wasn’t the end.

I thought I saw something shift in him. Maybe that hope wasn’t just mine.

But I was wrong.

There was no ring.

No speech.

No kneeling.

Just silence and cider and a beautiful view.

The whole time we floated, I kept waiting. I watched him so closely I gave myself a headache.

Every time he reached into his coat pocket, I held my breath. Every time he adjusted his stance, I waited for him to turn to me and say something that would change my life.

But he didn’t.

He just stood there, holding the railing, acting like this was just a nice thing to do for a grieving woman.

Just a gesture.

Like I was a charity case.

By the time the balloon started drifting back down, I knew. He hadn’t planned anything. He wasn’t thinking about the future. Not with me. He was still stuck in the past. Still stuck on her.

And suddenly, I wanted to scream.

I walked ahead of him toward the car, trying not to cry. If I cried, he’d think it was about the ‘baby.’ About the hormones. About my delicate emotional state.

He wouldn’t understand that this was a deeper kind of grief. Not for the child I had pretended to lose—but for the life I would never get back.

I had stood by him for years. I had shaped myself into what a Luna was supposed to be. Elegant. Polished. Patient.

Willing to wait. Willing to forgive. Willing to keep smiling even when I was being pushed aside like garbage.

And then she came back.

The princess. The ghost. The mate.

She came back from the dead with a child and a crown, and now I was just the woman everyone pitied.

The woman who lost.

I sat in the passenger seat the whole drive back, silent, my fingers digging into the seam of the seat.

I wasn’t done.

I still had cards to play.

Let him think I was broken. Let him think I was drifting.

But if Derek thought this was over—if Elena thought she had won—then she had another think coming.

I would make her pay.

If it was the last thing I ever did… I’d ruin her.