Page 90 of Mason

Shelby tugs at the strap of her bag, glancing at me with a small smile. “You know, you don’t have to drop me off every morning like I’m a kid going to school.”

I smirk, resting my arm on the steering wheel. “I know.”

She rolls her eyes. “Then why do you?”

“Because I want to,” I tell her simply. “Because I like knowing you get here safe. And we get to spend the drive over dirty talking—makes my morning.”

Her expression softens, and she shakes her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it.”

She hesitates, fingers toying with the hem of her coat, like she’s weighing something unspoken. Then, before I can process it, she leans in, pressing a quick, featherlight kiss to my cheek.

It’s nothing. And it’s everything.

The warmth barely registers before it’s gone, but it stops me cold. My pulse stutters, my jaw locks, and for one disorienting second, I forget how to fucking breathe. It’s so simple, so unguarded—sonormal. We’ve never done this before. Kisses have always been stolen in the heat of something darker, something desperate. But this? This issoft. It’s uncalculated. Domestic in a way that feels more intimate than anything we’ve ever done.

She pulls back just as fast, her cheeks flushing a deep, unmistakable pink. “See you later.”

And before I can say a word, she’s slipping out of the car, the door shutting behind her with a quiet thud.

I watch her go—the way her shoulders straighten, the way she moves with a confidence that’s only just starting to feel like second nature to her again. She doesn’t look back, but she knows I’m still watching.

The security detail stationed outside takes their cue, stepping into position to escort her inside. They’re discreet, but they’re there, just like they are every afternoon when they pick her up and bring her home. My orders. My non-negotiable.

I grip the steering wheel, exhaling slowly as the tightness in my chest eases.

This is my routine now. Dropping her off in the morning, knowing she’s doing something that matters. Coming home to her in the evening, knowing she’s there, that she’s safe. That she’s still choosing this—choosing us—every single day.

And maybe I never thought I’d have this. Not a life like this. Not something steady. Something worth coming home to. ButShelby is all of that. And for the first time in my life, I know exactly what I’m fighting to keep.

Five days.We have five days of peace. Five days where the illusion of normalcy settles over us like a fragile veil—where I pretend that Shelby is just another woman going to work, not a woman tethered to a man like me.

Five days before my phone rings and shatters it all.

I don’t recognize the number.

I almost don’t answer.

But the second I do, my blood turns to ice.

“Mason.”

Clay.

His voice is taut, threaded with quiet menace, each syllable tightening around my throat like a noose. He doesn’t waste words—just sharp edges and brutal truths. And the moment his next ones land, my stomach plummets.

“They have Shelby.”

The words don’t register at first. They hit my brain in slow motion, like a delayed reaction to a car crash. But the second they do, I’m already moving. My chair clatters back, my pulse a brutal drum in my ears.

Jayson must see it—see the raw, unfiltered panic bleeding through my movements—because he doesn’t wait for orders. He’s already bringing the car around before I even get to the door.

I slam my phone against my ear. “What the fuck do you mean, they have Shelby?”

Clay’s voice is clipped, urgent. Rushed. It sounds wrong.

“I just got a call. Shelby’s been taken.”

---