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Chapter 33: Free.
publish date:
2026-09-15 21:30:02
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Fifty-Fifty: Mr. Blake, This Is What Fair Looks Like Chapter 35: Catherine Bell
Catherine The low, honeyed light of the crystal chandelier glinted off the untouched rim of my water glass.Across the white tablecloth, Mason’s fingers were still trembling around mine. His grip was tight, desperate, clammy with a sudden panic he’d spent his entire life learning how to conceal. His chest heaved beneath his bespoke suit jacket, his eyes wet and searching my face for even a flicker of the woman who used to hang on his every word, the woman who used to lie awake at night wondering what she had done wrong to make him look through her.“Let me earn you back,” he had just begged, his voice cracked and raw, sounding smaller than I had ever heard it. “Let me prove to you just how much I love you. Please... just one more chance.”I stared at his face. I took in the dark shadows under his eyes, the fine lines etched into his forehead, the sheer terror radiating off a man who had finally realized that all his money, all his legal threats, and all his sudden, desperate gestures
Fifty-Fifty: Mr. Blake, This Is What Fair Looks Like Chapter 34: Let me prove it
MasonThe air inside Le Lido was thick with the scent of roasted garlic, butter, and expensive red wine. The dim lighting, generated by low-hanging crystal chandeliers, cast soft, amber circles over the white linen tablecloths. It was quiet, refined, and entirely undisturbed by the noise of the city outside—the kind of establishment where money bought you privacy and absolute deference.I sat at the corner table near the back window, pulling at the silver cuff of my sleeve for the tenth time in five minutes.This table. This exact corner.Six years ago, I had brought Catherine here for our very first official dinner together. Sitting here now, watching the candle flame flicker between the two polished place settings, a sharp wave of bittersweet nostalgia washed over me. I remembered how she’d looked when she walked in back then—small, beautiful, her eyes wide as she took in the opulence of the room, looking like someone who had accidentally wandered into a palace. Despite the anger bu
Fifty-Fifty: Mr. Blake, This Is What Fair Looks Like Chapter 33: Free.
Catherine The heavy, bound leather folder lay open on the sleek conference table, its pages crisp and white under the stark office lighting.I picked up the pen Noah handed me. It had a comforting weight to it, solid and smooth between my fingers. I didn't hesitate. Didn't even stare at the dotted line, searching my soul for lingering regrets or second thoughts. I simply brought the tip of the pen down and signed my name.Catherine Blake.For six years, that last name had felt like an iron collar pressed against my throat, heavy and restrictive, tightening every time I tried to speak, every time I tried to choose for myself, every time I tried to exist as a whole person rather than an extension of Mason’s reputation.As I signed the final sheet and set the pen down, a strange sensation washed over my shoulders. It was a physical release—a sudden, dizzying wave of lightness, as if a crushing weight I’d carried so long I had forgotten its existence had suddenly vanished into thin air.
Fifty-Fifty: Mr. Blake, This Is What Fair Looks Like Chapter 32: Out of moves
MasonMy desk at the office had always been a display of calculated authority: sleek obsidian paperweights, polished wooden organizers, and framed awards from regional business journals.Now, three vibrant, chaotic sheets of construction paper were taped directly onto the front glass panel of my desk.Mara had drawn them with crayons that were slightly melted at the tips. One was a green sun with a purple cloud; the other two were uneven portraits of a cat and a three-legged dog. Every time my managing partner walked in for a briefing, his eyes flicked to those papers, bewildered. I didn't care. I hadn't taken them down in two weeks.I threw myself into proving I could be better. Not just adequate—better than anyone expected me to be.I stopped relying on the court-mandated custody schedule like it was a rigid corporate contract. I didn't wait for my assigned weekends. If Ethan had a T-ball game on a Tuesday afternoon, I cleared my schedule three hours in advance, handed my files to m
Fifty-Fifty: Mr. Blake, This Is What Fair Looks Like Chapter: Not my mom
Catherine The phone buzzed in my hand the second Noah’s taillights vanished around the corner. Mason: Who was that? I stared at the three words, the screen’s glow harsh against the dark porch. My stomach dropped. I lifted my head— And there he was. A shadow at the end of the block stepped into the yellow halo of the streetlight. Mason. Coat collar up, shoulders rigid, walking toward me with heavy, deliberate strides. Our eyes locked across the short stretch of sidewalk.I spun for the door. He was already moving. Two long strides and his hand closed around my wrist before I could turn the knob, spinning me back to face him. The dark circles under his eyes made his features sharp, almost gaunt, but the tension in his jaw was pure fury. “Who was that?” His voice cut through the quiet street, low and aggressive. He didn’t release my wrist. “Who the hell was that, Catherine?” "Keep your voice down," I hissed, keeping my tone as flat and cold as ice. "It’s midnight, Mason."
Fifty-Fifty: Mr. Blake, This Is What Fair Looks Like Chapter 30: Memories.
Mason The silence in my study was heavy, the kind that pressed against your eardrums until you started hearing your own heartbeat.It was 2:14 AM.I sat at my desk, the dark wood polished to a shine that reflected the single desk lamp I’d left on. The rest of the house was pitch black, cold, and entirely too big. I had a glass of scotch sitting next to my elbow, untouched for over an hour. The ice had melted completely, diluting the amber liquid into something pale and lukewarm, but I couldn't bring myself to lift the glass.I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the apartment went back to that silent, hollow space it had become four days ago.I rubbed a hand over my face, feeling the rough stubble along my jaw. I hadn't shaved in two days. It was ridiculous. I was Mason Blake. I was supposed to be in control, managing negotiations, handling PR for the firm, keeping every moving piece in my life neatly aligned. But right now, my mind kept pulling backward, dragging me through
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