Chapter 12

I woke up to an empty guest room and the smell of coffee drifting from somewhere downstairs.

For a moment, I forgot where I was. Then I remembered. Mason's house. The kiss. The note. Vanessa. Vincent's text.

I pressed my palms against my eyes and tried to breathe. I found the note on the nightstand when I finally got up.

Same bold black ink. Same cruel handwriting.

"Don't read into it. I was drunk."

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

He wasn't drunk. He'd been sober. Clear-eyed. Desperate. And then cold. I crumpled the paper and threw it across the room.

I stayed in the guest room all morning.

Couldn't face him. Couldn't face Vanessa. Couldn't face the reality that I'd let myself believe, even for a second, that he meant what he said.

I love you.

I'd heard it. Right? He'd said it. And then he'd walked away like it meant nothing.

My phone buzzed. Sloane.

"You okay?"

I stared at the screen. No. I wasn't okay. I hadn't been okay since I was fourteen years old and fell in love with the wrong person.

"Fine," I lied.

I finally ventured downstairs at noon.

The kitchen was empty. Quiet. I grabbed a granola bar and a bottle of water and was halfway to the door when I heard it.

Laughter. Coming from the living room.

Vanessa's voice. And Mason's.

I should have left. I should have gone back to the guest room and pretended I hadn't heard anything.

But my feet wouldn't move.

I walked toward the living room. Stopped at the doorway.

Vanessa was curled up on the couch, wearing one of Mason's button-downs. Mason sat beside her, his arm draped across the back of the couch. They were laughing about something. Her hand rested on his thigh.

I stood there like a ghost.

Vanessa noticed me first. Her smile faltered.

"Oh. The pool house girl."

"Lucy," I said flatly.

"Right. Lucy." She didn't move. Didn't remove her hand from his thigh. "Mason, your sister's charity case is staring at us."

Mason looked at me. His expression was cold. Dismissive.

"Lucy. Is there something you need?"

I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.

Because he was looking at me like I was nothing. Like last night hadn't happened. Like he hadn't kissed me. Like he hadn't said he loved me.

"No," I managed. "I was just—getting water."

"Then get it and go." His voice was flat. "We're busy."

I felt my face go hot.

I turned and walked away. Didn't run. Didn't cry. Just walked back to the guest room and closed the door.

Then I pressed my back against it and slid down to the floor.

And I cried.

**** ****

An hour later, I heard Vanessa leave. The front door slammed. A car engine. Then silence.

I stayed in the guest room. Didn't move. Didn't breathe.

A knock on the door.

"Lucy."

Mason's voice. Rough. Impatient.

I didn't answer.

"Lucy. Open the door."

"No."

"Open the door."

"Why? So you can pretend I don't exist again?"

Silence. Then: "I'm trying to protect you."

"By bringing Vanessa here? By pretending I'm nothing?"

"You're not nothing."

"Then why do you treat me like I am?"

He didn't answer. I heard him walk away.

My phone buzzed.

Unknown number: You looked sad tonight. Want to know why? Because Mason doesn't care about you. He never has. But I could make him care. I could make him watch as I take everything from him.

I stared at the screen. My blood turned to ice. He was watching. Right now. Outside this house.

I crept to the window. Pulled back the curtain. The yard was empty. The gates were closed. Nothing moved.

But I felt him. Somewhere out there. Watching.

I ran.

I burst into the living room where Mason was standing by the window, phone in hand.

"Mason." My voice was shaking. "He texted me again. Vincent. He's watching the house."

Mason turned. His expression shifted from annoyance to something darker.

"Let me see."

I handed him my phone. He read it. His jaw tightened.

"He's getting bolder."

"I know."

"I need to sweep the property. Again."

"Okay."

He looked at me. His eyes were hard. "You shouldn't have come here."

"What?"

"I told you to stay in the guest room. I told you to lock the door."

"I was scared." My voice cracked. "He's watching me. He knows where I am. He said he's going to—"

"I don't care what he said."

The words hit me like a slap. "You don't care?"

"I care about keeping you alive." His voice was flat. "I don't care about your feelings. I don't care about your fears. I care about keeping you breathing."

I stared at him.

"You're a monster," I whispered.

"I know."

He called his security team. They swept the property. Found nothing. But I knew Vincent had been there. I could feel it in my bones.

Mason led me to a new room. A bedroom on the second floor. Bigger than the guest room. Windows facing the front of the house.

"You'll stay here tonight," he said.

"Why?"

"Because you can't follow instructions."

"I followed instructions. I stayed in the guest room. I locked the door."

"And yet you still managed to leave."

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

"Stay here," he said. "Don't leave. Don't answer the door."

"What if it's you?"

"It won't be."

He walked out. Didn't look back. I sat on the bed and stared at the wall.

He was impossible. Infuriating. Cruel.

And I still loved him. My phone buzzed. Sloane.

"Lucy? What's happening? Mason called security. He said Vincent was near the house."

I typed back: "He was. He texted me."

"Are you okay?"

"No."

"I'm coming over."

"Don't. It's not safe."

"I don't care. I'll be there in twenty."

She hung up before I could argue. Sloane arrived in twenty minutes flat. She burst into the bedroom without knocking, took one look at my face, and wrapped me in a hug.

"I'm going to kill him," she said.

"Which one?"

"Both of them."

I almost laughed. Almost. She pulled back. "What happened? Tell me everything."

So I did. The kiss. The note. Vanessa. Vincent. Mason's coldness.

Sloane listened. Her jaw tightened with every word.

"He kissed you?" she asked.

"Yes."

"And then he said he was drunk?"

"While he was sober."

"And then he brought Vanessa home and pretended you didn't exist?"

"Yes."

She stood up. "I'm going to kill him."

"Sloane—"

"No. I told you. I warned you. And he still—" She stopped. Took a breath. "I love my brother. But he's a disaster. He'll never be what you need."

"I know."

"Then why do you keep going back?"

I stared at her. Because the truth was pathetic. Because even after everything—the cruelty, the coldness, the parade of blondes—I still couldn't stop loving him. "Because I don't know how to stop," I whispered.

Sloane was quiet for a long moment. Then she sat down beside me.

"You do know how to stop," she said gently. "You just don't want to."

I didn't argue. Because she was right.

That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay in the unfamiliar bed, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling, and replayed every moment of the past few weeks.

The kiss. The note. Vanessa. Vincent. Mason's cold eyes.

And then his words. I love you.

Had he meant it? Or was it just another game?

I didn't know. But I knew I couldn't stay here. Not like this. Not with him treating me like a burden.

I needed to leave. I packed my bag in the dark. Quietly. Carefully.

The security team was downstairs. I'd have to slip past them. Find a way out without being seen. I made it to the front door. Hand on the handle.

"Lucy."

Mason's voice.

I turned. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Dark sweatpants. Bare chest. Hair messy. "Where are you going?"

"Away."

"Vincent is out there."

"I don't care."

"Lucy—"

"I can't stay here." My voice cracked. "I can't keep pretending I'm fine when I'm not. I can't keep watching you bring home other women. I can't keep hoping you'll change."

His jaw tightened. "I'm not going to change."

"I know."

"Then why are you still here?"

I stared at him. His eyes were dark. Unreadable.

"Because I love you," I said. "Even though I know I shouldn't. Even though you're a disaster. Even though you'll never be what I need."

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then: "I told you. I'll destroy you."

"Then destroy me."

He crossed the room in three strides. His hands cupped my face. His eyes burned into mine.

"You're insane."

"Probably."

"You deserve better."

"I know."

"Then why are you still here?"

I looked at him. At the broken, beautiful disaster standing in front of me. "Because I don't know how to stop."

He kissed me.

Not like before. Not cold. Not calculated. Just desperate. His mouth crashed into mine like I was the only thing keeping him alive.

I kissed him back. And again, I didn't care about the consequences.