Battles won and lost.

Arias POV

“You think I didn’t notice?” Mason’s voice was too smooth, too measured, as he leaned against Aria’s kitchen counter, arms crossed like he owned the place. Like he owned her. “You changed your hours, screened my calls… and now what, you’re playing house with Calloway?”

Aria blinked slowly, chest tight but face unreadable. “He helped me put furniture together. That’s it.”

He chuckled, that low, smug sound that used to send shivers down her spine but now just made her stomach twist. “That’s how it starts, babe. Little favors. Next thing you know, he’s got you thinking he gives a damn.” He stepped closer, brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. “You know who really has your back.”

She didn’t move, but her eyes locked on his, sharp and steady. “Do I?” Her voice was soft, but the bite underneath it could cut glass. “Because the last few months? You’ve been nothing but a fucking ghost, Mason.”

His jaw twitched.

Aria didn’t stop. “You want me to wait around like some trophy you already won. But newsflash—I’m not yours to keep in a glass case.”

His mask slipped, just for a second. His smile faltered, too tight, too forced. “You’re mine, Aria. Always have been. People like Kade? They don’t understand what it means to own something precious.”

And there it was—that crack. That word. Own.

Aria stepped back, icy calm now. “You don’t own

me,” she said, each syllable a bullet. “You never did.”

Mason’s smirk twitched, the gleam in his eye faltering as Aria held her stance. No tears. No pleading. Just that quiet steel he hadn’t seen before—not like this. Not directed at him.

“Careful, baby,” he said, trying to laugh it off, stepping in close like his presence alone could still melt her. “You’re cute when you’re feisty but let’s not forget who’s been here since the start.”

Aria tilted her head, lips curling into a slow, sharp smile. “Exactly, Mason. You’ve been here. But where the hell were you? When I moved in? When I cried myself to sleep? When I needed you to just show the fuck up?” Her voice didn’t raise, but it cut.

He faltered, blinking at her like she’d slapped him. “Don’t act like I haven’t—”

“Haven’t what? Called? Lied? Made promises you never kept? You didn’t want a partner, Mason. You wanted a puppet with a pretty face and quiet mouth.”

Mason’s nostrils flared, stepping toward her again, tension rolling off him. “Watch it, Aria. You don’t know what you’re saying right now—”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m saying,” she snapped, that fire building behind her eyes. “I spent years shrinking myself to keep your ego intact. That ends today.”

And he saw it—the way she stood taller. The way she wasn’t folding beneath his stare like she used to. Like she wasn’t scared anymore. He was the one unsteady now.

“We’ll talk when you calm down,” he muttered, already reaching for the door.

She beat him to it, yanking it open wide. “Nah, you can talk when you start listening. Until then? Goodbye, Mason.”

Mason didn’t flinch as she opened the door for him to leave. He didn’t budge an inch. Just stood there… watching her. That unnerving silence he wore like armor. Like a predator.

“So this is who you are now?” he said quietly, voice low and bitter-sweet. “All grown up and full of righteous fire… Ready to throw us away because I wasn’t there to screw in a few damn bolts?”

Aria narrowed her eyes. “It’s not about the damn furniture, Mason. It’s everything. You haven’t shown up—”

“I built you,” he growled, stepping into her space so close her breath caught. “You think you’d have made it through any of this without me back then? Don’t rewrite our fucking story to make me the villain.”

Her lips parted—protest trembling on the edge—but he was already moving. Already brushing hair from her face, already shifting his voice low and warm.

“You remember high school, baby?” he murmured, words dripping with nostalgia and poison. “When you were barely holding it together and I found you crying under that oak tree? Everyone else looked away. But I saw you. I loved you then. I still do.” His hand ghosted her cheek. “We’ve been through hell together. One fight—one—and you’re ready to throw it all away?”

Aria closed her eyes, trying to steady her breath. Don’t let him in. Don’t let him in.

But his arms were already wrapping around her. That scent she knew. That warmth she’d once craved like oxygen.

“I’m sorry, alright? I messed up,” he whispered, mouth brushing her temple. “But we’re us. And no one—not even Kade Calloway—knows you like I do.”

Her fingers clenched at his shirt, mind racing. She wanted to shove him back. Tell him to choke on his ego. But her heart betrayed her—just enough.

“I hate when you do this,” she whispered.

He smirked against her skin. “You love me, princess. That’s why it still works.”

And like a storm cloud fading for just a moment, she sagged into him, her fire flickering as he kissed her forehead.

Mason Dorsey had won this round.

Mason’s fingers hovered at the door before slowly pressing it shut with a soft click. The sound made Aria’s breath catch—half nerves, half muscle memory. He turned to her, leaning against it like he owned the room.

“Why don’t you show me around, huh?” he asked, voice warm, deceptively gentle. “You got your own place now, princess. I wanna see how you’ve been living… since you’ve been so determined to keep me out.”

That last line landed sharp—but she didn’t flinch. Not outwardly.

She led him room to room, pointing out little things. The lamp she found at a thrift shop. Her bookshelf. The framed photo of her and Jamison near the entry table. He watched it all, not saying much—but Aria felt the way his eyes clung to her. Like he was studying her freedom too closely.

When they got back to the living room, he sank into her couch with a content sigh.

“It’s nice,” he said. “Comfortable… like you.”

Aria rolled her eyes, but her heart still skipped a beat.

Then came the curveball.

“Mind if I stay the night?” he asked, voice low, fingers drumming the edge of her coffee table. “It’s been a rough week, and I don’t feel like driving back out. Plus…” He looked at her—through her. “Been a long time since we just… fell asleep together.”

She blinked, unsure. Mason never wanted to stay over. Her place was too “small,” too “far.” But now?

He saw the hesitation and moved in slow. Not pushy. Just… close.

“I miss you, Aria.” He reached for her hand, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. “I know I’ve been a shit lately. But maybe that’s all it was. A shitty phase. Every couple has ’em, right?”

Her heart squeezed. Maybe…

They curled up on the couch—cold pizza still on the floor—and he pulled her into his chest like it was nothing. Whispered things about their future. About starting over. About how she’d look good in that green dress she wore two years ago at the town fundraiser.

“Tell you what,” he said, kissing her hand. “This weekend, we go shopping. I’ll take you to pick something new. Something that turns every damn head in Calloway Hollow.”

Aria smiled despite herself.

Maybe it was just a rough patch.

Maybe… he was really trying.

They curled into the couch as the soft glow of the TV flickered across the walls, some half-watched romance playing out while the room went quiet except for the hum of the credits. Aria tucked herself into Mason’s side, her legs pulled beneath her and her cheek resting on his shoulder. He smelled like cedar and clean laundry, and for the first time in a long while, he wasn’t talking at her—just being there.

No demands. No backhanded comments. Just silence… and arms around her.

His hand rubbed small circles into her thigh through the soft cotton of her pajama pants, warm and rhythmic. She didn’t even realize she was dozing until her eyes drifted shut and her breath evened out.

Mason looked down at her, his hand pausing. Her lips parted slightly, lashes soft against her cheeks. Vulnerable. Still.

He slipped one arm under her knees and the other beneath her back and lifted her, surprisingly gentle. She murmured something in her sleep—his name, maybe—and pressed her face against his chest.

He carried her into the bedroom, laid her down like something delicate. Then, without even undressing, slid in beside her. The covers tugged over them both.

For that night—no fights. No accusations. Just her body curled instinctively toward his. Her hand resting lightly on his chest.

He stared at the ceiling in the dark, lips curved in a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She was still his.