Chapter 3

That didn't seem to be enough for the man. He yanked Mason up by his hair and forced him to his feet, drawing back his fist. But before he could swing…

"Harry, let go!"

Lindsay shot to her feet and pulled Mason behind her. Then, she dug around in her bag for some tissues, shoving them into his hand.

Mason wiped his face in a daze, red wine dripping everywhere. Some had splashed into his eyes. It burned like hell, but he forced himself to look up. As expected, the arrogant twat in front of him was Harry.

"What are you looking at?" Harry snapped. "Everyone knew I was flying back today, and I specifically told Lindsay to pick me up. You dragging her off right before I land is basically you picking a fight with me. I'm already letting you off easy by just dumping wine on you!"

Lindsay turned and grabbed his arm, frowning. "That's enough. This has nothing to do with him."

Harry was about to explode. "What do you mean, it has nothing to do with him? He's just throwing his weight around because his kid—"

"I said, that's enough!" Lindsay snapped, cutting him off so he couldn't say that Landon had died.

He froze in shock. "Did you just yell at me for him?"

He stared at her, totally blindsided.

Lindsay forced herself to calm down and kept her voice as soft as possible as she said, "Look, if you're upset about anything, take it up with me. There's no need to make a scene like this."

Only then did she seem to finally remember Mason was still there. She turned to look at him and said, "You should head home. I'll deal with this."

But Mason didn't budge. He glanced at Harry and said evenly to Lindsay, "He hasn't apologized to me yet."

Harry's head snapped up, the anger he'd just barely tamped down roaring back to life. "Who the hell do you think you are? You think I'm actually gonna—ah!"

Mason flung the rest of the red wine straight into Harry's face, exactly the way Harry had done to him. There was nothing left in the bottle.

He hadn't even pulled his hand back when Lindsay grabbed his wrist in a vice grip. "What do you think you're doing?"

Her eyes were razor-sharp as they honed in on him. It was nothing like how she'd reacted when Harry had ambushed him earlier. This time, she was genuinely furious.

Of course. The second Harry was involved, the warm disguise she'd donned for the past few days vanished as if it had never existed.

Mason met her gaze head-on. "What? Are you gonna get back at me for his sake, or are you planning to hit me?"

He sounded calm and detached, like none of this really mattered. But inside his sleeve, his fist was clenched so tight his knuckles ached.

Memories crashed over him. The day George had forced him to return to Statham Manor, Harry had stormed into the villa and slashed his face with a knife. He'd been taken to the hospital afterward and gotten the scar removed, but the area still throbbed every time it rained.

He also remembered a time when he'd been in an accident and hadn't fully recovered. Harry had shoved his head into a sink full of water and icily watched him flail, keeping him there until his ribs had snapped again. He'd had to be rushed into emergency surgery. Later, he'd almost died on the operating table from an infection.

Back then, Mason had never dared to fight back, nor could he. All he'd wanted was to stay alive and raise Landon.

But now, he knew the truth. His own parents didn't want him up and had set him up, and Lindsay was pretending to be nice to him despite hating him—all because of Harry.

He'd never actually done anything wrong. He didn't owe any of them a damn thing. And now, the only person he truly loved—Landon—was dead.

What else was there for him to be afraid of?

Mason stood there and held Lindsay's gaze, a faint, mocking smile curving his lips.

In the end, she let go of his wrist, her eyes turning frosty. "Just go."

As Mason turned and walked away, Harry's furious shouting echoed from behind him, but that was Lindsay's mess now. It had nothing to do with him anymore.

He went downstairs, walked out to the street, and hailed a cab straight to Statham Manor.

An hour later, the butler had barely led Mason into the living room when a teacup came flying at his head.

"You're useless! You couldn't even keep a child alive. What use are you to anyone?" George roared.

Mason jerked his head aside just in time. The cup shattered against the wall; a shard sliced open the skin at his temple. He didn't bother explaining anything to a furious George.

Of course, he'd tried to reach George when Landon was dying, wanting to beg him to step in and save Landon. But the old man had been recuperating at some private retreat in the mountains, and Mason couldn't reach him. Lindsay had ensured there was no way for them to contact each other long before any of this.

If Mason could figure that out, so could George. This tirade was just George's way of venting his anger. In his eyes, an orphan like Mason was the perfect punching bag.

After a moment of silence, Mason grimaced and said bluntly, "You're right. I am useless. So, let me go. Five years ago, you pulled strings and made my marriage to Lindsay official. Getting us divorced should be even easier for you."