Chapter 6

It's been three days since Mason's lips had been on mine. Three days since he'd smiled that cold smile and walked away like I was nothing. Three days since I'd stood in his dark living room and realized I'd been played.

I hadn't left the pool house since.

Not for food. Not for air. Just lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment. The way his hand had cupped my face. The way his mouth had crashed into mine. The way he'd pulled back with his eyes telling me "Got what I wanted" like I was a conquest. Like ten years of wanting him meant nothing.

I'd cried until I had nothing left. Then I'd cried some more.

Now I just felt hollow.

On the fourth morning, I ran out of excuses.

My stomach was growling. My throat was dry. And the pool house mini-fridge only had water and that stupid wine I refused to touch.

I needed food.

I waited until I heard Mason's Mercedes pull out of the garage. Watched through the window as his taillights disappeared down the private road. Then I slipped out the side door and walked to the main house.

The kitchen was empty. Quiet.

I grabbed a granola bar from the pantry. A bottle of water from the fridge. I was halfway to the door when I saw it.

A piece of paper on the counter. My name written across the top in bold black ink.

~Lucy —Don't be dramatic. You knew what I was. I never promised you anything.

Still an asshole.

M~

I read it three times. Four times. My hands started shaking.

He'd left me a note. Like I was a child who needed to be scolded. Like I'd been the one who'd done something wrong.

I crumpled the paper in my fist and threw it across the room.

Sloane found me an hour later.

She'd let herself into the pool house like always, armed with coffee and a bag of pastries. One look at my face and she dropped everything on the counter.

"Lucy. What happened?"

"Nothing."

"You look like someone died."

I opened my mouth. Closed it. How could I tell her? How could I admit that her brother had kissed me and then tossed me aside like garbage?

"He's just—" I started. Stopped. "I need to get out of here."

Sloane's eyes narrowed. "Did Mason do something?"

"No. Yes. I don't know."

She sat down on the bed beside me. Grabbed my hand.

"Tell me everything."

So I did.

Not about the kiss. Not about the way he'd cupped my face or the way he'd said "Got what I wanted." I couldn't. That was mine to carry alone. But I told her about the note. The cold dismissal. The way he looked through me like I'd never existed.

Sloane's jaw tightened. Her grip on my hand tightened too.

"That son of a bitch."

"Sloane—"

"No. I'm going to kill him." She was already standing. Already reaching for her phone. "He can't treat you like this. You're my best friend. You're not some—some—"

"Conquest?" I offered weakly.

"Exactly. You're not a conquest. You're not a game. And I'm going to—"

"Don't." I grabbed her wrist. "Please. I just want to forget it happened."

Sloane stared at me. Her eyes were blazing. But she sat back down.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "But I'm not letting this go. Not forever."

I nodded. That was enough.

Sloane helped me find a new place that afternoon.

A small apartment on the other side of the city. Cheap. Bare. But it was mine. Sloane didn't ask why I was leaving so suddenly. She just helped me pack what little I had and drove me across town without a word.

By nightfall, I was standing in my new home.

It was tiny. The walls were thin. The radiator made a weird clanking sound. But Mason wasn't twenty feet away. I couldn't hear his music or his voice or the women he brought home.

I could breathe.

"Are you sure about this?" Sloane asked, looking around the cramped space.

"Positive."

"Lucy, this place is—"

"Perfect." I forced a smile. "It's perfect."

She didn't believe me. I could see it in her eyes. But she hugged me anyway and promised to bring furniture tomorrow.

I was alone.

I didn't sleep that night.

Not because of the strange sounds. Not because the bed was uncomfortable.

Because I couldn't stop thinking about him.

The way his mouth had felt. The way his hands had gripped my waist. The way he'd looked at me in the dark like I was the only person in the world.

And then the way he'd smiled. Cold. Cruel. Got what I wanted.

I pressed my pillow over my face and screamed.

The next week passed in a blur.

I found a job at a used bookstore three blocks from my apartment. The owner, Mrs. Patel, was kind and didn't ask too many questions. I shelved books and rang up customers and pretended I wasn't falling apart.

Sloane visited every other day. She brought food and furniture and updates about her life. She didn't mention Mason. I didn't ask.

But I noticed the way her eyes flickered when she looked at me. The way she hesitated before saying his name.

He's fine, she'd said once. Being his usual charming self.

I knew what that meant. Blondes. Lots of them.

It shouldn't have hurt. I'd known what he was. He'd never pretended otherwise.

But it did.

On the twelfth night, I couldn't take it anymore.

I sat on my lumpy bed with my phone in my hand. The unknown number was still saved in my messages. Mason's texts. Can't sleep either. Just come. Good. See you at home.

I should have deleted them. I should have blocked his number.

Instead, I typed:

Why did you kiss me?

I stared at the screen for five minutes. Ten. My thumb hovered over the send button.

Then I deleted it.

I was stronger than this. I had to be.

My phone buzzed. My heart stopped.

Unknown number: I know you're thinking about me.

How? How did he know?

I typed back before I could stop myself: I'm not.

Mason: Liar.

Mason: I can feel it.

Mason: You're lying in bed right now. Staring at your phone. Wondering if I meant it.

My hands were shaking.

Lucy: Did you?

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Mason: Does it matter?

Lucy: Yes.

A long pause. So long I thought he'd stopped typing.

Then: Meet me. Tomorrow. That coffee shop on 4th. 2 pm.

Lucy: Why would I do that?

Mason: Because you want answers. And I'm the only one who has them.

I should have said no. I should have thrown my phone across the room and blocked his number and never looked back.

But I was so tired of pretending I didn't care.

Lucy: Fine.

Mason: I knew you would.

Lucy: Don't make me regret this.

Mason: I always do.

I stared at his last message until the screen went dark.

Then I cried.

I showed up at the coffee shop at 1:45 the next afternoon.

I told myself it was because I wanted answers. Because I wanted closure. Because I needed to look him in the eye and tell him he hadn't broken me.

I was lying to myself.

He was already there when I walked in. Sitting at a corner table with a black coffee and that infuriating smirk. Dark jeans. Black sweater. Hair pushed back like he'd just rolled out of bed.

My stomach flipped.

"Lucy." He stood when I approached. Pulled out a chair for me like we were on a date. "You came."

"You said you had answers."

"I do." He sat back down. "But first—"

"First, you're going to explain why you kissed me." My voice was steadier than I felt. "You're going to tell me why you made me feel like—like—"

"Like you mattered?"

My throat closed.

Mason's smirk faded. Something flickered behind his eyes. Something I couldn't read.

"I kissed you because I wanted to," he said quietly. "And I walked away because I had to."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're going to get."

I stood up. "I shouldn't have come."

"Lucy." He grabbed my wrist. His grip was gentle. "Wait."

I looked down at his hand. His fingers wrapped around my skin. Warm. Familiar.

"There's more," he said. "Something I need to tell you."

"What?"

His jaw tightened. He pulled a folded envelope from his jacket pocket and slid it across the table.

Inside was a photo. A man I didn't recognize. And a note.

"He's the one who robbed you. And he's connected to my family."

I looked up at Mason. His eyes were darker than I'd ever seen them.

"Your robbery wasn't random," he said. "It was meant to hurt you. Because someone wants to hurt me."

My blood turned to ice.

"Who?"

"I don't know yet." He leaned forward. "But I'm going to find out. And I need your help."

I stared at the photo. At the note. At Mason's face.

"Why should I trust you?"

He was quiet for a moment. Then: "Because I've never stopped watching you, Lucy. And I'm not about to let anyone hurt you. Not even myself."

I didn't know if I believed him. I didn't know if I should. But I sat back down. And I didn't let go of his hand.