Chapter 46
The soft click of the lock disengaging on the front door signals the guillotine readying to fall.
After a night from hell, a very public sexual assault, and hours-long wait at the terminal for a commercial flight home, I’m beyond exhausted.
All the breath freezes in my lungs as Mason drops his bag to the floor with a thunk and begins tentative steps along the corridor.
Exactly as my heels had done all those months ago on the marble of the foyer floor. Click, clack, click.
I’m frozen in place, the strap of my portfolio anchored to my shoulder as his steps continue toward the kitchen where he sighs before opening a cupboard and filling what I presume is a glass with filtered water.
Either he or Trystan must have instructed the jet to come straight home.
I left my phone and everything else in the Charlotte hotel suite.
I only took a tiny bag of necessary casual clothing, some shoes, and my portfolio after shrugging out of the dinner jacket I’d fled the room in.
Fuck. Taking his momentary distraction as an opportunity, I tiptoe as silently as possible to the studio door. I am almost through the doorway and into the hall, miscalculating my turning circle, and a box of graphite crashes to the floor from its resting place on another easel.
“Bri?”
My feet move toward the front door, and the bulky portfolio swings into the wall, offering another audible thump. “Shit,” I hiss quietly, but not quietly enough.
“Sabrina?” He’s at my side in a moment. A flash of movement and he just teleported from sipping water to simpering fool. His face is swollen and kissed by purple and gray tints. Not today, Satan. “Sabrina. Please. I’m sorr—”
“No! Don’t you dare touch me.”
“No?” Those muscular shoulders plummet. A man so assured and confident, now uncertain.
“You do not get to shove some half-assed apology at me like that. No, you do not.” Rage vibrates within me, a furious, roiling energy I want to hurl toward him like a lancet. Fucking prick.
“I am sorry,” he pleads; it’s almost a wail.
He sounds like Juliette Nasta-Vrees with that nasal twang.
Ha! To think how relieved I was when Zac and Abe Grenfer said they’d ink the deal if she and Fenkel weren’t in it.
Zac hadn’t felt comfortable with them as a company, and Juliette’s constant touching and suggestive references went beyond praise.
It was aggressive, sexual, predatory, and when she’d commented that she would stop at nothing to secure a deal, he knew she was literal with her intent.
Like me, Zac and Abe had thought their days of being bullied were over.
“I don’t care if you are or not, Mason. It’s irrelevant. ”
“What are you taking?” His eyes drop to the items cradled in my arms. The only barrier between us. It’s not enough.
“Only my art supplies. Everything I brought here. Sketch pages and graphite sticks, kneaded erasers and blending sponges. Items that mean nothing to you. I don’t want a single thing you gave me.
The cuff is on the bench by the dressing mirror in the wardrobe.
I don’t want it. I don’t want any of it. ”
“Bri, I… I was so jealous. I lost my mind.” Nervous fingers claw paths through his usually perfect hair. Right now, he looks unkempt and broken. He is the internal representation of everything going on with his face right now. Good, I hope he aches.
“Jealous?” Oh, the fucking audacity of this man. Where are your teachable moments now, asshole? “Of whom?”
“Isaac. Seeing you both laughing over something on his phone split my heart. I’m not proud of how I acted, but I will own my deplorable behavior.”
“Oh, that’s big of you. Own it? You pulled all the strings last night. Using a drunk nobody to humiliate me. Fuck you. The entire room saw me naked. How do you suppose I just forget about that?”
He has the good manners to look absolutely appalled. And so he should. His head hangs heavy from a neck blotched red with stress. Hollow eyes frantically search for a safe harbor. He will find none here.
“When Isaac—”
I implode. The roiling boil oozes from my pores like a toxin.
“No! You don’t drag him into your petty jealousy over nothing.
Abe recorded a video message to Uta. The first time in over two years he’s allowed a video of him in his current state to be circulated.
Do you know how monumental that was for him?
That’s the extent of him showing me his phone.
Not that I need to explain anything to you, when everything you did last night was on your shoulders. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
His look of hopeless contrition would be satisfying if I cared. I stopped caring last night when another man's jacket had to be slung over my shaky, naked shoulders.
“What about the other jewelry? And your clothes?”
He still doesn’t fucking get it. He might be wealthy, but he’s fucking stupid.
“No, Mason. Nothing here is mine. That was the illusion, wasn’t it?
Token gifts to distract me from the fact that you are a shitty human.
Everything I own, everything I want and need to sustain me in adult life is not with you or from you.
Do you get it now? You can’t just throw money and gifts at something and expect everything to be okay. ”
“I’m yours. Bri. I’m yours and I’m so fucking sorry. I… love you.”
The scoff bubbles free before I can rein it back. “Your decayed soul is incapable of love. Stop with the lies. Just… stop.”
“Bri. I love you. You showed me how. I need you. Please! Please don’t leave me.” His fingers reach for mine. I pull away, sharp and solid.
“All the money in the world couldn’t keep me by your side. The decay took over any decency a long time ago. Men you despised and didn’t want to be like? You are exactly like them. Last night showed me clear as fucking day that you are the rotten fruit of Magnus and Malice.”
“Sabri—”
“The saddest part is that you have—had, two people in your life who loved you unconditionally. You broke both of us.”
Once again, the clipped strides are mine as I continue down the corridor and far, far away from Mason James Mercer.