"Miss you?" The laugh that escapes me sounds foreign, brittle at the edges. "I'd sooner miss a root canal."
I don't wait for his response. My legs carry me through the screen door before my brain fully registers the decision to move, the blanket still wrapped around my body.
Behind me, I hear Konnor's voice—low, controlled, the tone he probably uses when delivering difficult diagnoses.
"She clearly doesn't want to speak with you. I suggest you leave."
"And you are?" Mason's voice carries that particular blend of condescension and false charm that used to make me feel small.
I'm moving through the living room, my bare feet sticking slightly to the hardwood.
My hands shake as I gather the scattered clothes, shoving them into a pile, trying to erase the visible proof of what happened here. Mason doesn't deserve to see it.
The screen door protests as Mason tries to push through.
"It's okay," I call out, my voice steadier than I feel. "Let him in, Konnor. I'll be back in a minute."
A pause. Then the screen door opens, and Mason's footsteps cross the threshold.
I walk to the bedroom with my spine straight, my chin lifted, and I close the door behind me with a soft click that feels more powerful than a slam.
The clothes fall from my arms onto the bed. I stare at them and breathe.
You are not the woman he thinks you are. You never were.
I dress methodically. Clean underwear. Dark jeans that fit well and make me feel capable. A soft gray shirt that covers more than it reveals.
I drag my fingers through my hair, taming it into something presentable, then emerge from the bedroom to find the tension in the living room so thick I could choke on it.
Oscar is back—standing near the kitchen island with his arms crossed, his honey-colored eyes dark with barely contained fury.
He must have returned while I was changing, and Konnor clearly briefed him on the situation. His gaze flicks to me, checking, cataloging, making sure I'm intact.
Konnor stands by the window, positioned strategically between Mason and the rest of the cabin. His posture is deceptively relaxed, but I recognize the coiled readiness beneath it.
And Mason.
Mason has claimed the armchair by the fireplace—the same chair where Konnor sat last night while watching Oscar and me dance.
He's crossed one ankle over the opposite knee, his posture radiating ownership of a space that isn't his, his sharp eyes cataloging everything.
Including the bra I apparently missed, still dangling from the lamp beside the couch.
His gaze travels slowly from the bra to me, then to Oscar, then to Konnor. A smile spreads across his face—the kind of smile that makes me want to scrub my skin raw.
"Well, well." He leans back in the chair, steepling his fingers. "Looks like someone's been busy. Two men, Kelly? Slut dreams came true afterall."
Oscar moves before I can react, crossing the space between them in three furious strides.
His hand closes around the front of Mason's perfectly pressed shirt, hauling him up from the chair.
"Oscar, don't." I step forward, grabbing his arm. "He's not worth it."
Oscar's muscles tremble beneath my grip.
For a long moment, he doesn't move, his fist still twisted in Mason's collar. Then, slowly, he releases him with a slight shove that sends Mason stumbling back into the chair.
"Touch me again," Mason smooths his lapels, "and I'll have you arrested for assault."
"You can try," Oscar's voice drips with contempt.
Mason ignores him, his attention fixed on me now. "We need to talk business, Kelly. Send your little friends away."
"They're not going anywhere." I settle onto the couch, and Oscar pushes off from the kitchen island to stand behind me, his hand resting on the back of the cushion near my shoulder. "Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of them."
His eyebrow arches. "How noble. Is this the part where we all hold hands and share our feelings?"
"This is the part where you tell me why you're here, Mason. Because I know it's not to apologize for destroying my career and my reputation." I cross my arms over my chest. "What do you want?"
Something shifts in his expression—a crack in the smug facade, quickly smoothed over. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, that predatory focus sharpening.
"Cerberus Holdings withdrew from the merger."
Cerberus Holdings—the acquisition that would have doubled Goodwin Industries' market value, the deal I spent eighteen months cultivating before Mason's coup.
"They withdrew?" My voice comes out steady. "Why?"
"Because Victoria Lynch 'doesn't like doing business with men she doesn't trust.'" Mason's jaw tightens, and I catch the humiliation beneath his carefully controlled expression. "She flew in from Singapore last week and pulled the offer off the table."
Victoria Lynch. I remember her—sharp-eyed and sharper-minded, the kind of woman who could smell bullshit from three continents away.
"That sounds like a you problem, Mason. I'm not sure why you're telling me."
"Because she'll only proceed with the merger if you're reinstated as CEO."
The silence that follows is deafening.
Oscar's hand finds my knee beneath the edge of the couch, squeezing gently. By the window, Konnor's posture shifts almost imperceptibly—arms uncrossing, weight moving forward onto the balls of his feet.
Their support is tangible, grounding, and I draw on it as I process what Mason just said. "Victoria wants me back."
"The merger is worth three billion dollars, Kelly." The words come out bitter, each syllable a small humiliation. "Personal feelings don't factor into business decisions of that magnitude."
"Personal feelings." I laugh, and it sounds hollow even to my own ears. "Oh that's rich."
Mason's composure slips, his face reddening. "The past is the past. Are you really going to let petty resentment destroy your grandfather's legacy?"
"You're the one who destroyed it." I stand, needing to be above him for once. "And I notice you're here alone, Mason. Which tells me the company didn't sanction this visit. You came here on your own, hoping to manage me before anyone else could."
His silence confirms everything.
"You're desperate," I continue, the realization settling into satisfaction. "Victoria humiliated you, the board is questioning your leadership, and you thought you could come here and manipulate me into saving your job. The same job you stole from me."
"I didn't steal anything." He's on his feet now, his careful control unraveling. "You handed it to me with your reckless behavior—"
"My reckless behavior?" I step closer, something fierce and hot building in my chest. "I caught you cheating. And your response was to launch a PR campaign painting me as the villain."
"The pregnancy was a complication I didn't ask for," he says. "If you want this negotiation to proceed, you'll need to terminate the pregnancy anyway. The optics of a single mother CEO returning to lead a major corporation—it's not the image you want to project. Clean slate, Kelly. That's what this requires."
Oscar makes a sound of pure disgust. Konnor's jaw tightens.
How did I spend several years of my life with someone so hollow?
"You don't get to call the shots anymore, Mason." My voice comes out calm, almost pleasant. "And you definitely don't get to make demands about a pregnancy that isn't yours."
His expression freezes. "What?"
"It's not your baby." The lie slides out smooth and satisfying. "Get out, Mason."
"This isn't over—"
"Oh but it is." I gesture toward the door. "Leave. And tell my father that if he wants to negotiate, he can do it through my lawyers. I'll be back in New York when I'm ready. Not a moment before."
Mason stares at me for a long moment, his jaw working, his fists clenched at his sides. Then, without another word, he turns and stalks toward the door.
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