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88

Bethany's POV

If there was a world record for being the most despicable, controlling bastard, Mason would not only win but demand a crown, a parade, and a public holiday in his honor. He'd probably name it "Mason Day" and make attendance mandatory under the threat of death—or worse, one of his endless lectures about submission and loyalty.

He'd finally told them to unlock my room last night, after three days of being polite and meek and docile to him. It worked. I was no longer locked up.

I stared at the mirror in the guest bathroom, trying to keep my breathing steady. My reflection was pale and tired, but my jaw was set, and my eyes were sharp. That, at least, hadn't dimmed. Mason might be trying to break me, but I wasn't going to shatter so easily just like he wanted.

The sharp knock on the door yanked me out of my thoughts.