Golden boy, black heart

Masons POV

The scent of jasmine perfume clung to his skin, light and teasing—nothing like Aria’s. Mason leaned back in the leather chair of his office, lips parted slightly as Danielle straddled him, pressing kisses down his neck with slow, deliberate intent.

His fingers gripped her waist, not too tight. He liked to leave no evidence.

Aria would cry if she saw this, he thought with a smirk. And then apologize for making me feel guilty.

Danielle giggled against his throat, clueless. Just another pretty thing in a long line of them. But none of them were Aria.

No, Aria was different.

The town’s perfect little flower. The golden girl who turned heads just by existing. And she belonged to him. Even if she didn’t always remember that. Even if she got mouthy or stubborn or walked around with that little defiant spark in her eye lately—he’d tame it. He always did.

She was his.

Mason’s eyes flicked over to the picture frame on his desk. A photo from last year’s Founders Day Festival—Aria standing beside him, smile wide, her hand laced in his, her eyes so bright and full of trust. People had cheered them on. The perfect couple. The town’s sweetheart and its prince.

And that was exactly how he wanted it.

Public adoration. Private control.

Danielle’s hands tugged at his tie, pulling him back into the moment.

“You’re distracted,” she pouted.

Mason chuckled low. “Just thinking about my future wife.”

Danielle blinked, startled. He didn’t explain.

Let her think whatever the hell she wanted. Aria would never leave him. She needed him. Always had. Since the day he found her sobbing under that tree in middle school. Since the first time she looked up at him like he was her whole damn world.

He’d built her into who she was now. And she owed him everything.

He leaned in and kissed Danielle hard—more out of boredom than desire—then shoved her gently off his lap.

“Back to work,” he said smoothly. “Clients don’t charm themselves.”

Danielle adjusted her skirt, clearly annoyed but too ambitious to argue. She slipped out the door, and Mason rolled his neck with a sigh.

His phone buzzed.

Aria.

Speak of the angel.

He didn’t answer. He’d call her later, make her squirm a little, remind her how easily she could be ignored.

It kept her soft.

It kept her his.

He stared at the phone vibrating on the desk until it finally stilled.

Desperate again, huh princess? he thought smugly, tapping his fingers along the edge of his whiskey glass.

Mason liked her best like this—unsure, a little panicked, wondering what she did wrong. That’s when she softened. That’s when she clung.

He picked up the phone, scrolled to their last text—something about putting together her bookshelf—and scoffed. She’d moved in three months ago and still expected him to play handyman? What the fuck did she think this was, HGTV?

He had better shit to do. Deals to close. Ass to grab.

He poured himself a drink, leaning back as the burn slid down his throat. A crooked grin tugged at his lips as he imagined her pacing in that little apartment of hers, chewing her lip, probably crying.

She’ll beg before the week’s over. They always do.

That same week, Aria had some event or charity thing, right? One of those moments the town fawned over her like she was some local goddess. He’d show up. Late, of course. Just enough to rattle her. Then flash that smile, wrap his arm around her waist, and watch her melt all over again in public.

The girl was trained.

And the best part?

Even if she suspected anything, she never had the guts to ask. Not directly. She was too fucking afraid of losing him. Which made her the easiest win of all.

He stood up, walked to the window, looking down at the town he practically owned.

Kade Calloway was probably brooding somewhere, still playing the fucking cowboy hero. Jamison had taken off chasing some startup dream like that’d last. But he—Mason fucking Dorsey—he was rooted here, legacy-built, and the future of Dorsey Auto, just like his father.

And soon enough, he’d have Aria officially under his name. A wife. An ornament. A trophy to show off, control, and keep right where he wanted her.

Because no matter how wild she ever got, no matter what fire flickered behind those soft brown eyes—he’d always find a way to dim it.

Every damn time.

Arias POV

She hadn’t seen Mason in nearly a week.

Not since that bullshit argument over the furniture—over her car—over everything he kept promising to do but never fucking followed through on. And sure, he’d called. Twice. Maybe three times. She saw the name light up on her screen, but she didn’t answer. Not this time. If Mason wanted to talk, he could come to her. If he wanted to be in her life, he could put in the fucking effort.

Because she wasn’t begging anymore. She wasn’t chasing.

So Aria did what she always did when life twisted itself into knots—she fixed what she could.

She changed her schedule at the bookstore. She stopped answering his calls. She even spent a few mornings with her dad at the print shop. The machines were loud, the ink smelled like permanence, and for once, Harold was up and showered before noon—talking about paper thickness and color palettes like he hadn’t once disappeared into himself for years. It was… good.

But Mason? Still no sign of him.

And fine. Good. If he wasn’t going to show up, she’d do it all herself.

Which is exactly why she was standing in the damn hardware store trying to figure out which screwdriver set wouldn’t snap the moment she touched it.

She reached for a box on the top shelf—only for a familiar hand to snag it first.

“Cobalt set’s better,” Kade said, voice low and lazy behind her.

Of course.

Aria turned, lips tightening. “What is it with you and always assuming I need your input?”

Kade didn’t flinch, didn’t smirk—just met her with that unreadable stare. “I don’t assume. I know.”

She huffed, crossing her arms. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

He shrugged, setting the set into her basket anyway. “You keep showing up where I shop, princess.”

She started to fire back, but stopped.

Jamie’s voice whispered again: Try actually talking to him. Actually listening.

So instead of lashing out, Aria inhaled and pushed the edge of her pride back. “Alright. Truce?”

Kade blinked, surprise flickering across his face. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “I’ll let you help—if you let me make you dinner.”

One corner of his mouth twitched upward. “You bribing me with food, Simmons?”

“I’m bribing you with the only thing I know how to make well. You want it or not?”

Kade’s grin turned slow and full of something unspoken. “Yeah. I want it. I’ll put together everything—you just better not burn the damn chicken.”

Aria laughed, tension uncoiling in her chest for the first time in days. “Deal.”

And just like that, the storm started to shift.