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64

Bethany's POV

It wasn't the big things that made me realize Mason was determined to make my life a living hell. It was the little things. Like the way my phone mysteriously disappeared every time I left it unattended, or how the lock on my door had been replaced with one that only Mason had a key to. Subtle, right? A masterclass in Alpha-level micromanagement.

And the rules. Oh, the rules.

"Bethany," Mason had said just that morning, his tone dripping with faux patience, "you're not to leave the pack house without permission. It's for your safety."

"Safety?" I'd shot back, my voice laced with sarcasm. "From what, Mason? Freedom? Joy? My sanity?"

He'd ignored my sass, as usual, and laid down his decree like it was law—which, unfortunately, in the pack, it kind of was. Mason loved rules. They gave him structure, control. And if there was one thing Mason couldn't live without, it was control.

But I wasn't going to make it easy for him.