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92

Mason's POV

There's a special kind of satisfaction that comes from watching someone break.

Not in a sudden, dramatic way—no, that would be too easy. Too quick.

I prefer the slow unraveling. The gradual decline. The moment when they stop fighting.

And this morning, as I watch Bethany push her food around on her plate, her shoulders hunched, her face pale and drained of any defiance, I know I've finally gotten what I wanted.

She looks like a ghost of the woman who once spat fire at me, who once dared to think she had choices.

And Adrian?

He's sitting across from me, cold and unreadable. Detached. His usual sharp tongue is nowhere to be found, and for the first time in forever, he's not glaring at me like he's fantasizing about ripping my throat out.

No, he's just sitting there, silent.

And that? That is the biggest victory of all.