21

21

Bethany's POV

I stepped into Mason's office, the chill of the early morning air still clinging to my skin. The cold had seeped into my bones, but nothing, not even the biting wind, could compare to the icy feeling that always settled in my chest when I walked into this place. His place.

I hated this office. The sleek, polished furniture, the stark minimalism that screamed 'I'm important'—it all made me want to turn around and walk straight out the door. But of course, I couldn't do that. Not anymore.

"Bethany." His voice, deep and clipped, cut through the silence as I stood by the door.

I didn't look at him immediately, taking a moment to compose myself before glancing up at him from the corner of my eye. He sat behind his desk, his usual smug expression in place as he tapped away on his computer, clearly not even acknowledging my presence at first.

I almost preferred it that way.

But no, he had to open his mouth, like he always did. "Did you bring the report?"

I bit back the retort on the tip of my tongue. My hands clenched into fists by my sides, the folder I was holding suddenly feeling like a weight I couldn't stand to carry anymore.

I walked over to his desk, slamming the folder down with more force than necessary. His eyes flickered up to meet mine, his gaze sharp and calculating. He didn't flinch. Of course he didn't.

"Here." I forced the word out, my voice cool and measured despite the boiling anger that was coursing through my veins.

Mason didn't say anything for a moment. Instead, he just stared at the folder, his fingers tapping on the desk lightly. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he assessed the report.

"Good," he muttered, without even glancing up from the papers in front of him.

I wanted to scream. Wanted to throw the damn report at his face. But I couldn't. Not here, not now.

"Anything else?" I asked, my voice clipped, just trying to get through this without losing my cool.

"Actually," he said, looking up at me with that same smug smile that made my skin crawl, "you can make me some coffee. The usual."

I almost choked on my own breath, the sudden wave of rage threatening to swallow me whole. He couldn't be serious. I was supposed to be working—doing real work, not playing the role of his personal assistant.

But of course, I wasn't in a position to argue. Not yet. I still hadn't figured out how to get out of this mess—how to break free of this place, this man, without risking everything.

I turned on my heel, fighting to keep my face neutral as I walked to the coffee machine.

I hated this job. I hated Mason. I hated everything about this.

I thought things would be different when I first agreed to this hellish arrangement. But no, this wasn't about a simple family heirloom. This wasn't just a silly little debt to repay. No. It was about power. Control.

And Mason had it all.

I could feel his eyes on me as I prepared the coffee, the weight of his gaze pressing into the back of my skull. I could almost feel him smirking behind me, knowing that I was seething with frustration.

"Make sure it's perfect," he called out, as though he were speaking to some underling, not his… well, not fiancée.

I clenched my jaw as I carefully poured the coffee into the mug.

When I turned back around to hand it to him, he was already leaning back in his chair, his hands behind his head in that lazy, arrogant way he always had.

I dropped the cup onto the desk with a quiet thud. "There. Perfect."

He didn't even blink. Instead, he picked up the mug and took a sip, as if my fury didn't matter. As if nothing I felt ever mattered.

I felt the heat rise in my cheeks, a tightness in my chest that threatened to burst. I wanted to scream. I wanted to slap the smug look off his face.

But I couldn't. I couldn't do anything.

Not yet. I reminded myself. Now was not the time.

I turned away from him again, my hands trembling with the effort to hold myself together. Maybe if I spoke to him reasonably, we could come to a mutual agreement.

"Mason," I said, my voice low, barely audible even to myself, "I need to talk to you."

"About what?" He didn't even glance up from his work. "Make it quick."

"I don't want to do this anymore," I bit out, the words finally breaking free from my throat. "I can't… I can't keep pretending."

For a moment, there was silence. A thick, suffocating silence that made my heart race in my chest.

Then, finally, he glanced up at me, his gaze hard and calculating. "Pretending? What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I mean." My voice was rising now, the frustration spilling over. "This—everything between us. It's a lie. We're not happy. You're not happy. And I'm not happy either."

I saw the flash of annoyance in his eyes, but he didn't say anything at first. Instead, he set his coffee down slowly, then leaned forward, his hands clasped together in front of him.

"You think this is easy for me?" he said, his voice low, almost threatening. "You think I wanted to be stuck with you like this? That I wanted this mess of a situation?"

I took a step back, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. "What are you talking about?"

"I didn't have a choice either, Bethany," he said, his voice suddenly colder than ice. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask for you."

My heart skipped a beat. The words cut deeper than I expected, sharper than I thought possible.

But I didn't let it show.

"You don't have to pretend anymore, Mason," I whispered, my throat tight. "We're both stuck here, and neither of us wants this. So let's just end it. For good."

He didn't speak for a long time, his eyes narrowing as he studied me. I could feel the tension between us, thick and heavy in the air. I wanted him to say something, to agree with me, to make it all go away.

But he didn't.

Instead, he stood up suddenly, towering over me.

"You don't get it, do you?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "I don't care what you want. You broke the heirloom. You owe me. And you'll pay."

I stood there, rooted to the spot, my breath shallow as he took a step closer.

"I'm not giving up on this, Bethany," he said, his voice eerily calm now. "And you're not going anywhere."

I wanted to scream. I wanted to hit him, to make him understand.

But I didn't. I couldn't.

I just stood there, staring at him, my chest tightening, my hands trembling by my sides. I could feel the anger, the frustration, the pain building inside me, but I couldn't get it out.

So I just turned and walked away.

One more day. One more day in this hellhole. I wasn't sure how much more of this I could take.

I wasn't sure how long it'd take for me to break finally.