Chapter 7 Mason’s Meltdown
The sea breeze howled as a tall, disheveled figure stormed into the yard.
Mason had come.
His hair was in disarray, his eyes bloodshot, and his expensive blazer was wrinkled, draped haphazardly over his arm. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and he exuded an aura of chaos, as if on the verge of completely losing it.
He ignored Granny, who was repairing one of the chairs in the yard, and his red–rimmed eyes immediately locked onto me on the deck.
“Cecilia!” he yelled, his voice hoarse and broken, filled with an explosive mix of disbelief, rage, and panic. “You actually quit?! You damn ghosted me? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?!”
Granny, startled by the sudden outburst, dropped the hammer with a loud clink. She stood up, frowning, her gaze sharp as she sized up the uninvited guest, her eyes full of caution and scrutiny.
I put my phone down and nodded at Grandma, signaling her to stay calm.
Mason stormed a few steps closer, standing at the edge of the deck, his chest heaving with each breath. “Did you see the trending topics? Did you see all that crap? You’ve ruined everything! Cartier just pulled out! The Netflix deal’s circling the drain! All the years I’ve spent building my reputation–it’s all gone!”
He flailed his arms like a cornered animal. “Are you happy now? Did you always know this was going to happen? Were you just waiting to see me fail?!”
His shouts were swallowed by the wind but still carried a ferocious edge.
I heard Wendy’s anxious voice through the phone: “Cecilia? What’s going on over there?”
Looking at the man in front of me, so frantic and willing to throw all his blame at everyone else, I felt the last vestige of emotional turmoil inside me dissipate completely.
“Mason,” I said, my voice calm and steady as it cut through the wind, clear without a hint of emotion.
“Your work, your reputation, your projects–what do they have to do with me anymore?”
“Remember? We broke up,” I added quietly, letting the weight of those words sink in.
It was like I’d slapped him across the face. He froze, staring at me with disbelief.
Yeah, he hadn’t forgotten. He just hadn’t taken it seriously.
He hadn’t realized that my dedication had never been something he could take for granted.
“As for me quitting,” I said, a cold smirk pulling at the corners of my lips, “Do I owe you an explanation? Just like you didn’t owe me one for telling Suzanne the studio password, or for bringing her to our friend’s wedding, or for letting her cross line after line without any consequences.”
“You…”
Mason’s face went deathly pale. His mouth opened, as if he were about to defend himself, but when his eyes met mine–eyes as cold and empty as I felt–no words came out.
“And one more thing,” I continued, every word like a nail driven deep, “This place is not for you.”
I looked him in the eye, unflinching.
“Please, leave my mother’s place.”
The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs grew louder, washing over the scene, as if the sea itself was punctuating my words, breaking the last bit of hope Mason had clung to.
He stumbled backward a step, staring at me on the deck, then glancing over at Grandma, who stood there with an implacable
Chapter 7 Mason’s Meltdown
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expression, a silent guardian in her own right.
In that moment, Mason finally understood that I wasn’t going to look back.
“Cecilia, are you really going to give up on me?” he asked, his voice faltering as if he couldn’t believe what was happening.
Cha
