46. Mason
FORTY-SIX
MASON
I’ve only had a few life-changing moments, ones that become integral in forming who you are as a person, and this is one of those moments.
Olivia stares at me, her eyes rimmed red with what I’m assuming are tears of guilt, telling me the child she carried for five months, the child I envisioned holding in my arms, the child I grieved …that child wasn’t mine.
“I’m sorry, say that again?” I ask, cocking my head to the side, a fire growing steadily in the pit of my stomach.
She swallows, the pale skin of her neck blossoming a deep shade of red. “She wasn’t yours , Alex.”
“Don’t call me that.” The nickname is too tender, whispers of it slipping off another woman’s tongue too fresh. My mind is racing, reframing everything I thought I knew from my past, a tendril of intuition prodding at my back. “Whose was it?”
Her eyes drop, the cerulean blue growing glassy as she stutters out a shaky breath. She purses her lips. “I think you know.”
My chest caves in.
No .
“Are you…” I rub my forehead with my fingertips. “Are you telling me you were having an affair with my father?”
She bites her bottom lip, breaking eye contact and looking to the side.
“You were eighteen !” I snap.
“Fifteen when it started.”
Bile rolls through my stomach, the nausea so overwhelming my mouth sours.
My chin lifts, teeth grinding to keep from spewing the acid off my tongue. I shake my head. “No, that’s…that’s before we started dating. That’s—” My eyes widen, my hand coming to cover my mouth. “That’s the first time he invited your family around.”
Another tear drips down her face. “I thought he loved me,” she whispers.
“My father doesn’t love anyone . ”
She scoffs, her eyes blazing as they lock on mine. “I know that now.”
I collapse against the railing of the patio, shock and disgust warring for first place inside of me. I always knew my father was a vile man, but I never knew his sins ran this deep. He took advantage of a fifteen-year-old girl. He groomed her. He stuck her to my side so he could keep her close.
This is evil . This is…
Illegal.
Not that it matters—without proof, it would still just be my word against his. And my word doesn’t hold weight like a man who is first in line to run the country.
My mind replays Olivia’s words, and I stand up straighter. “Wait a second. Wait…wait.” I pace back-and-forth, my chest cavity collapsing from the weight of her truth. “Are you telling me that the baby— my fucking baby— was actually his?” My fingers press against the numbers tattooed on my arm. The one that Lily’s son asked about—the due date for a baby that apparently was never mine to begin with.
She chokes out a sob, her hand coming up to cover her mouth, black tears smearing down her face. “I’m sorry, Alexander.”
Pieces of my heart that I didn’t know still existed shatter, proving there’s always more to lose. Always deeper to fall. Always more to grieve.
“I wanted to keep her!” she bursts out. “I wanted to keep her,” she cries again. “But Thomas knew that people would question the timing.”
I tilt my head. “The timing?”
“Of the baby,” she whimpers, gasping through her tears.
“So let me get this straight.” I run my hands over my face and light up another cigarette. “He wanted me to marry you to cover up his mistakes, and then when he realized having a grandkid made out of wedlock could hurt him in the polls…you both just made the decision without talking to anyone else in the family? Because fuck what anyone else thought, right? Fuck what I thought.”
She looks up at me, her eyes flaring. “There is no we in that scenario. He didn’t give me a choice. He swept me away for a weekend. I thought he was being romantic,” she scoffs. “But then a doctor came to the hotel, and—” She sniffles, her hands covering her stomach as she collapses in on herself. After a few moments, she lifts her head, staring me in the eyes. “And then, after you left, he told me you were dead . And I have…” She pauses, breathing deep, her eyes closing. “I promised myself I wouldn’t stop until I could make him pay.”
My heart clamps down, squeezing in my chest. “So why haven’t you?”
She shrugs. “Because I’m pathetic? Because I’m weak?” Her hand trembles as she runs it through her hair. “Because I’m a coward.”
I run my tongue over my teeth, flicking the ash from my cigarette. “Did you ever love me?”
She swallows, looking down at the ground. “Eventually.”
Huffing out a laugh, I raise my head to the sky. “You’re unbelievable.”
“I’m sorry. I—” Her voice catches, and she stands up, walking over and grabbing the cigarette from my hand, bringing it to her lips and inhaling. “If there were some way I could go back in time, I would. But, Alexander, I thought he loved me.” More tears fall from her eyes. “I didn’t know.”
My hands go to my hips, and I breathe deep, trying to calm the storm that’s raging through my insides. “Yet here you are.”
She walks to the banister, gripping the edges so tightly her fingertips turn red. “I’m a prisoner in Thomas’s world, the same as everyone else. I hate him,” she whispers, so faint I have to lean in to hear. “I want him to pay for what he’s done.”
“He will.” The words escape me before I can draw them back, and I cringe, cursing myself for being so fucking stupid. I don’t know if I can trust her, but if I can—if there’s even a small chance—it would help to have her on my side. So even though it might be a colossal mistake, I continue. “I’ll make sure of it.”
Her eyes harden as she stares at me before her gaze scans the area.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She rubs her lips together. “Yes, I’m just… Do you think they can hear us?”
I shrug, because the truth is, I’m not sure if they can. I wouldn’t put anything past my father, and the fact that she seems to think there are cameras in my room, tell me everything we do is most likely under scrutiny. “I guess we’ll find out, huh? He probably wouldn’t like you telling me all his secrets.”
“You’re right.” Her teeth sink into her lower lip as she straightens from where she was leaning over the balcony. “Can I see your phone?”
Slipping my cell from my back pocket, I hand it to her, my heart beating out a staccato rhythm against my ribs. She types furiously, her eyes scanning the screen before her lips tighten, and she walks over, placing the phone in my hand.
“Thank you for listening,” she mutters, her lips soft as they skim the stubble on my cheek. And then she turns around and walks inside.
Energy bounces through my muscles, my stomach somersaulting as I look down and read the words.
He liked to take pictures.
He keeps them in his safe.
I know how to get them.