Chapter 10
CHAPTER
TEN
Harper
My heart nearly stops as I see the cause of the commotion. A sleek black motorcycle has skidded to a halt at the entrance of the alley, its rider dismounting with fluid grace. As they remove their helmet, I catch a glimpse of familiar blonde hair.
Tyler. My best friend from art school. I haven’t seen him since he moved off to California.
"Harper?" he calls out, his voice a mix of confusion and relief. "Oh my god, I've been looking everywhere for you!"
I'm frozen in place, caught between Mason's possessive embrace and the shocked face of my childhood friend. How did he find me here? Why is he in Paris?
Mason's arm tightens around my waist, and I feel the tension radiating through his body. His eyes narrow as he assesses Tyler, clearly seeing him as a threat.
"Who is this?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous.
Before I can answer, Tyler strides towards us, his face hardening as he takes in the scene.
"Get your hands off her," he growls at Mason. "Harper, are you okay? Is this guy bothering you?"
I open my mouth to speak, but no words come out. How can I possibly explain this situation?
Mason steps slightly in front of me, shielding me with his body. "I suggest you turn around and leave," he says to Tyler, his tone brooking no argument. "This doesn't concern you."
Tyler's eyes flash with anger. "Like hell it doesn't," he snaps. "Harper, come on. We need to talk. Alone."
I feel torn in two, my body yearning to stay pressed against Mason's warmth while my mind screams that I need to go with Tyler, to understand why he's here.
"I..." I start, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can't just..."
Mason turns to me, his eyes intense. "You don't have to go anywhere you don't want to, Harper," he says softly, but with an undercurrent of steel. "Say the word, and I'll have him removed."
The threat in his voice sends a chill down my spine. This is a side of Mason I'm not sure I'm ready to face.
Tyler takes another step forward, his hand outstretched. "Harper, please. You have no idea what's really going on. You're in danger."
My head spins. Danger? What could he possibly mean?
Mason's body tenses further, and I sense he's on the verge of doing something drastic. I have to make a choice, and fast.
With my heart pounding, I look between Mason and Tyler. The man who's awakened desires I never knew I had, and the friend who's always had my back.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself against the storm of emotions swirling within me. "Mason," I say softly, placing a hand on his chest. "It's okay. This is Tyler Morris. He’s an old friend from art school. I need to see what he wants."
Mason's jaw clenches, his eyes never leaving Tyler. "Like hell I'm letting you walk away with some guy," he growls.
I gently cup his face, forcing him to look at me. "Tyler isn't just 'some guy.' He's my best friend. We've known each other for years."
Mason's gaze only burns hotter with jealousy, and the tension doesn't leave his body. I can see the struggle playing out across his face—his need to protect me warring with his desire to respect my wishes.
"Look," I say, pointing across the narrow Parisian street. "See that little café with the red awning and the flower boxes in the windows? We'll be right there, having coffee and catching up. You can watch us the entire time if you want."
The café is a charming spot, its outdoor seating area filled with wrought-iron tables and chairs. The scent of freshly baked croissants and rich espresso wafts across the cobblestones, a reminder of the simple pleasures that drew me to this city in the first place.
Mason's eyes flick between me, Tyler, and the café. I can almost see the gears turning in his head as he weighs his options.
"Please," I whisper, standing on my tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his cheek. "Trust me."
He lets out a long, slow breath. "Fine," he says finally, his voice tight. "But I'll be watching. If anything seems off?—"
"I know," I interrupt, giving him a small smile. "You'll come charging in to save me. I get it."
I turn to Tyler, who's been watching our exchange with a mixture of concern and impatience. "Shall we?" I ask, gesturing towards the café.
As we cross the street, I can feel Mason's eyes boring into my back. The weight of his gaze is almost physical, a reminder of the passion and possessiveness that both thrills and terrifies me.
Tyler and I settle at a table near the window, where I know Mason will be able to see us clearly. The waiter brings us two steaming cups of café au lait, the rich aroma filling the air between us.
"Alright, Ty," I say, wrapping my hands around the warm mug. "Start talking. What's this about danger? And how on earth did you find me in Paris?"
Tyler leans forward, his eyes intense. "Harper, there's so much you don't know. About Mason, about his business...God, I don't even know where to start."
As Tyler begins to speak, I can't help but glance out the window. Mason is still there, leaning against the wall of the alley.
My heart goes cold at Tyler's words, each revelation like a shard of ice piercing my chest. The café around us fades into a blur as I struggle to process what he's telling me.
"Harper, Mason Blackwood isn't just some benevolent patron of the arts," Tyler says, his voice low and urgent. "He's a ruthless developer who's been systematically destroying artist communities all over California."
I shake my head, not wanting to believe it. "That can't be true. He's been so supportive of my work, of my dreams..."
Tyler reaches across the table, grasping my hand. "Listen to me. Remember that amazing gallery district in San Francisco? The one we always talked about visiting someday?"
I nod, recalling our late-night conversations in art school, dreaming of the day we'd see our own work hanging in those hallowed spaces.
"It's gone, Harper. All of it. Blackwood Development bought up the entire block and tore it down. There are luxury condos there now, with a Starbucks on every corner."
My stomach lurches. I think of the sketches Mason had praised just last week, my plans for a series exploring the intersection of nature and urban decay. How could he have looked at those with such enthusiasm, knowing what he'd done?
"But that's not all," Tyler continues, his eyes never leaving mine. "Remember Joanna? The sculptor who mentored us during that summer workshop?"
My throat tightens. Joanna had been like a second mother to us, nurturing our talents and pushing us to explore beyond our comfort zones.
"Her studio was in an old warehouse in Oakland. She'd been there for twenty years, Harper. It was a landmark, a gathering place for the whole arts community." Tyler's voice breaks. "Blackwood bought the building, evicted everyone with barely a month's notice. Joanna lost everything—her workspace, her equipment, decades of unfinished projects."
Tears sting my eyes as I picture Joanna's warm smile, her hands always covered in clay. The thought of her life's work destroyed is almost too much to bear.
"And it's not just California," Tyler presses on. "He's been doing this all over the country. New York, Chicago, Austin—anywhere there's a thriving arts scene, Blackwood swoops in and turns it into overpriced apartments and chain stores."
I glance out the window, my gaze finding Mason. He's still there, watching us intently. The man I thought I knew—passionate, supportive, with a deep appreciation for creativity—seems to dissolve before my eyes. In his place stands a stranger, cold and calculating.
"But why?" I whisper, my voice barely audible over the clinking of cups and saucers around us. "Why would he do this?"
Tyler's expression softens. "Money, Harper. It's always about money. Those funky old buildings artists love? They're sitting on prime real estate. Blackwood sees
I struggle to process Tyler's words, my mind reeling. Could it really be true? Had Mason been using me, manipulating my passion for art for his own gain this whole time?
"There's more," Tyler says gravely, leaning in closer. "Harper, he's dangerous. Like, seriously dangerous. I've been digging into his past, and there are rumors...people who've crossed him or gotten in the way of his developments have a way of disappearing."
A chill runs down my spine. I think of Mason's intensity, the barely contained violence I've sensed lurking beneath his polished exterior.
"What are you saying?" I whisper, though part of me already knows.
Tyler's eyes are filled with fear and concern. "I'm saying we need to get you out of here. Now. Before he realizes what I'm telling you."
I glance out the window again. Mason is still there, watching us like a hawk. His piercing blue eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see something dark and possessive flash across his face.
My heart pounds as I turn back to Tyler. "I can't just leave," I say, though my resolve is crumbling. "My art, my studio..."
"We'll figure it out," Tyler insists. "But right now, we need to go. I have a car waiting around the corner."
I nod, finally accepting the gravity of the situation. As we stand to leave, I cast one last look at Mason through the window.
His eyes narrow, sensing something is wrong. I watch in horror as he starts to move towards the café, his face a mask of fury.
"Run," Tyler hisses, grabbing my hand.
We burst out of the café and sprint down the cobblestone street, the sound of Mason's angry shouts echoing behind us.