Chapter 90 –
Harry – POV
I don't know why I ever liked this man.
Maybe it was because he was the first one to look at me like I mattered. Maybe it was the way he said my name that one time with a smile. Maybe I was just desperate to be wanted, to be seen.
Now?
I sit on the arm of the couch, eyes flicking between him and the TV.
Dorian's fuming again. Like really fuming. Staring daggers at the screen like it owes him money.
Ivan's on again—his face lighting up some fashion panel, or a red carpet, or some goddamn interview. Doesn't matter which. He's everywhere now.
Funny thing is, there's at least twenty other channels in this house. Twenty different things Dorian could be watching. But no—he parks himself right in front of this one. And seethes.
He won't change the channel.
He won't look away.
That's the thing about Dorian. He calls it anger. I think it's jealousy.
I glance back at my phone, trying to ignore the tight feeling in my chest. A notification is sitting there, soft and unobtrusive.
A message from Mason.
It's a selfie.
He's standing in front of some stupidly picturesque mountains, hair tousled from the wind, smiling like he's just genuinely happy to be alive. There's a smudge of something on his cheek. I think it's chocolate.
My lips twitch without permission.
Unlike Dorian, Mason is… nice. Genuinely. It's not the fake kind of nice that people wear like a coat, waiting to drop it when the weather changes. It's real. It's quiet.
It's steady.
Ivan told me I should just latch onto Mason. "Suck it up," he said, "and let someone good love you for once."
But I can't. Not yet.
Because I'd be using him.
And I've been used. I've been the thing someone latched onto to escape their reality.
I don't want to do that to Mason.
Though if I'm being honest, part of me wishes I could.
Because Mason? He makes me laugh. He listens when I talk. He doesn't ask for more than I can give. He doesn't act like every good thing he does is a favor I have to repay with my body.
He asks me how my day was.
And means it.
I look at Dorian again.
He hasn't said a word since Ivan came on screen. Just fumes. Just clenches his jaw and fists and breathes like he's about to explode.
It's pathetic.
And sad.
And a little terrifying.
Because once, I thought this was love. I thought this was intensity, passion, devotion.
Turns out it was just possession. Fear. Control.
And when you've lived in that kind of silence for long enough, even pain can feel like attention.
But now that I've tasted something different, something better, I can't go back. Not fully. Even if I'm still here physically. Even if I still make excuses. Even if I still flinch when I hear him slam a door.
Somewhere deep down, the roots of something new are growing.
I look at Mason's picture again.
And I think… maybe Ivan's right.
Maybe I don't have to be stuck here forever.
I lock my phone screen and set it face-down on the table.
Dorian still hasn't noticed.
Or maybe he has, and he's pretending he hasn't. That's the thing with him—you never really know what he sees, what he stores for later. He's like a trapdoor spider. Quiet now, but always ready to strike when you're soft.
I run a hand down my arm and wince when my fingers brush over a bruise. Nothing serious. Just another bad morning.
I wonder what it'd feel like to not walk on eggshells. To come home and not worry about the temperature of the air.
I think about Mason again.
The way he said "take your time" like he meant it. The way he smiled when I accidentally spilled my tea and offered me his napkin without blinking. The way he touched my elbow in passing and didn't make me feel like I owed him something for it.
I think about Ivan too.
The way his voice dropped when he told me I deserved better. The way he didn't try to save me—but reminded me I could save myself.
I take a breath and stare at the flickering TV.
Ivan looks calm. Poised. Like nothing touches him anymore.
And me?
I'm still here.
Still afraid. Still unsure. I know Dorian is a good guy deep down, he's just never known love.
The question is, am I willing to put myself through more of this because of that?