Master of his heart (Max and Brielle)

Tiffanie couldn't get a single word out, her neck quickly showing a bright red welt. Everett looked like he hated her guts, his eyes bloodshot as he glared, as if he wanted to strangle her right then and there.

She thought she was done for. This man seemed like he'd crawled out from the depths of hell, ready to unload all his anger about the Dorsey family onto her. Her vision began to blur, but the sound of a key dropping from Everett's hand snapped him out of his rage. His face froze, and he let her go, carefully picking up the key. "The Dorsey family's bankrupt, so you must be out of cash. North America's more liberal; why don't you go hustle on the streets? Now get lost."

With a shove, Tiffanie tumbled out of the car. Everett didn't even look back, just floored it and sped away.

She sat there on the pavement, unmoving, as cars and curious drivers passed by. After a moment, she sighed deeply and slowly got to her feet. Her neck was sore, and her knee had turned a nasty shade of blue from the fall.

She almost wished Everett had strangled her; it would make for an interesting showdown between him and his father. She had long been tired of living, her life a complete mess. Without Victoria to torment her or insult her like a dog to win Everett's favor, this newfound freedom felt oddly empty.

It was hard to describe, but living another second felt like an insult to the world. Someone as messed up as her might be better off dead. The only thing keeping her going was Everett. She wanted to see his reaction to her being with Mason. Would it drive him insane? Just the thought brought a sly smile to her lips.

When she got back to the place she shared with Mason, the smell of a delicious meal greeted her, wiping away all thoughts of Everett. Mason, a financial hotshot, still found time to cook for her.

In Beaconsfield, she hadn't learned to cook or do much of anything really; Victoria had forbidden it. After changing her shoes in the foyer, she saw Mason in an apron, tasting something from a pot.

He smiled and kissed her cheek when he saw her. "What kept you so late?" Then, noticing the vivid mark on her neck, his pupils constricted. "What happened?"

"Just a scratch." Tiffanie pushed past him into the kitchen. "What have you made? It smells amazing."

"Your favorites. Sit down, let me serve the food, and after we eat, I'll take care of that mark."

Tiffanie stayed silent, her eyes landing on a knife on the table, used by Mason for peeling fruit. He pampered her, sparing her from any household chores. Yet right then, she felt an urge to grab the knife and add a few more cuts to her wrists. Pain had a way of making her feel less anxious, more at ease.

Mason, oblivious to her inner turmoil, finished preparing the meal, and they ate together. Afterwards, Tiffanie brought up something new.

"Mason, let's visit the place you used to live. I want to see it."

Mason rarely refused her and agreed right away. The place he and his mother had once called home was in a rundown area, but they had kept it immaculately clean. Mason had maintained it over the years, giving it the feel of a lived-in home. Stepping inside, Tiffanie felt as if the deathly aura that clung to her was washed away, replaced by a sense of excitement. "Look at this," Mason said, leading her to a door. "This was my mother's room, and the other was mine."

Despite the dire surroundings, it was

clear that the people who had lived here cherished life. Tiffanie only glanced around briefly before hugging Mason. He thought she was feeling sorry for him, smiling softly. "It's alright, that's all behind us now."

Before he could finish, Tiffanie pushed him onto a narrow couch and kissed him. Mason blushed, surprised, but wrapped his arms around her without resisting. Outside, the sound of a key turning in the lock went unnoticed by the engrossed couple.