"And when you were fifteen you presented." Mason's expression was haunted, his hand dropping from my face to grip the edge of the piano bench, his knuckles going white. "That's when he started planning in earnest. Putting you in our path at every opportunity. He saw you as the final piece of his legacy, an Omega to bind his sons together, to ensure the Harper line continued."
"And you went along with it?" I pulled back slightly, betrayal sharp in my chest, my hand dropping from his arm. "You just... followed his plan?"
"No." Mason's hand dropped from my face, and he turned away, his shoulders tight with tension, his profile rigid against the dim light. "I fought him. For years, I fought him. I told him you weren't a chess piece, that we couldn't just claim you like property. I said we should wait, let you grow up, give you a choice."
"But?" I prompted, needing to hear the rest even as I dreaded it.
"But then you presented." His voice was rough, raw, cracking on the words. "And everything I thought I knew went out the window. The moment I caught your scent for the first time, something inside me clicked into place. Like I'd been missing a piece of myself I didn't even know was gone." He turned back to face me, his expression tortured, his hands clenching at his sides. "I tried to stay away. I tried to give you space, to let you come to us in your own time. And instead, you ran."
"I had to," I said, my voice small but firm, my chin lifting despite the tremor in my words. "I wasn't ready. I wasn't?—"
"I know." He cut me off, but gently, his voice softening. "I know why you ran. I've spent three years trying to understand it, and I finally do. You needed to figure out who you were before you could be ours. You needed freedom, even if it was killing you."
"Then why did you take me?" I asked, the question I'd been holding back for weeks finally breaking free, my voice cracking on the words. "If you understood, why didn't you just let me go?" Mason was quiet for a long moment, his dark eyes heavy with something I couldn't name, shadows playing across his strong features.
"Because I'm selfish," he said finally, the admission seeming to cost him something, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because watching you destroy yourself from a distance was worse than anything David ever put me through. Because I would rather have you hate me for the rest of your life than watch you die alone in some apartment, too proud to ask for help."
His voice cracked on the last words, and suddenly I saw it, the fear he'd been carrying all this time. Not just for me, but for all of them. The weight of being the one who had to make impossible choices, who had to live with the consequences.
"I don't hate you," I whispered, reaching out to take his hand, threading my fingers through his. "I tried to. God, I tried so hard. But I can't."
"Avalon." My name on his lips sounded like a prayer, like a plea. He pulled me closer, both hands framing my face, his forehead pressing against mine, his breath warm on my skin. "I love you. I've loved you since you were fifteen years old and looked up at me with those big eyes and asked me why I never smiled. I love you now, even when you fight me, even when yourun, even when you make me so goddamn crazy I don't know which way is up."
Tears burned in my eyes, threatening to spill over. "Mason—" I started, my voice breaking.
"I'm not asking you to say it back." His voice was rough, desperate, his thumbs wiping away the tears that escaped down my cheeks, his touch impossibly gentle for hands so strong. "I'm not asking for anything. I just need you to know. Everything I've done, taking you, keeping you here, pushing you, it's because I love you. Because I can't imagine a world where you don't exist. Because losing you would destroy me in ways that nothing else ever could."
I didn't have words. Didn't have anything that could match the raw intensity of what he'd just given me. So instead, I did the only thing I could think of.
I kissed him. It wasn't gentle. Wasn't soft or sweet or tentative. It was desperate, hungry, all the things I'd been holding back crashing through my walls at once. He made a sound against my mouth — surprise, relief, need, and then he was kissing me back, one hand tangling in my hair, the other pulling me onto his lap like I weighed nothing at all.
When we finally broke apart, both of us gasping for air, his dark eyes were wild, almost feral.
"Ava," he growled, his hand tight in my hair, tilting my head back so he could look at me, his chest heaving against mine. "What was that?"
"I don't know," I admitted, my voice shaky, my whole body trembling against his, my fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt. "I just... I needed you to know. That I see you. That I understand. Whatever this is between us.”
Something shifted in his expression, the wildness banking into something deeper, something steadier. He pressed his forehead to mine again, his breath ragged against my lips.
"You're mine," he said, and it wasn't a question or a command. It was a statement of fact, as immutable as gravity, his voice rough with certainty. "You've always been mine. And I will spend the rest of my life proving that I'm worthy of you."
"You don't have to prove anything," I whispered, my hands coming up to frame his face, mirroring his hold on me, my thumbs tracing the sharp line of his cheekbones. "You're already enough, Mason. You've always been enough."
The sound he made then was broken, raw, years of doubt and fear crumbling under the weight of words he'd never let himself believe. He kissed me again, harder this time, deeper, his hands sliding down my back to grip my hips and pull me more firmly onto his lap. I could feel him hard beneath me, straining against his pants, and the knowledge sent a bolt of heat straight to my core. I rolled my hips instinctively, dragging a groan from deep in his chest.
"Ava." My name was a warning, his fingers digging into my hips hard enough to bruise, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he fought for control. "If you keep doing that, I won't be able to stop."
"Then don't stop," I breathed against his mouth, surprising myself with how much I meant it, my hips rolling again, deliberate this time. "I don't want you to stop."
He pulled back to look at me, his dark eyes searching, making sure, one hand coming up to cup my cheek with unexpected tenderness. "Are you certain? Because once I have you, I'm not letting go. Not ever." In answer, I reached down and pulled my shirt over my head, baring myself to him. The cool air of the music room pebbled my nipples, but the heat in his gaze burned it away.
"Fuck," he breathed, reverent and filthy all at once, his eyes roaming over my exposed skin like he was memorizing every inch. His hands came up to cup my breasts, calloused thumbsbrushing over the sensitive peaks, and I arched into his touch with a moan. "You're so beautiful. So fucking perfect."
He ducked his head and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make me cry out, my fingers tangling in his dark hair. His tongue swirled around the hardened bud, teeth grazing just enough to send sparks down my spine. His other hand worked my other breast, pinching and rolling until I was writhing on his lap, desperate for more friction.
"Mason, please—" I gasped, tugging at his hair, not sure if I was trying to pull him closer or push him away.
"I've got you," he murmured against my skin, his breath hot on my wet nipple, making me shiver. He stood abruptly, lifting me with him like I weighed nothing, and set me on the piano. The keys crashed discordantly beneath me, but neither of us cared. His hands were already working at my pants, yanking them down my legs along with my underwear until I was bare before him, spread out on his piano like an offering. He stepped back, and I resisted the urge to cover myself under the intensity of his gaze. His dark eyes traveled over every inch of me, my flushed cheeks, my heaving chest, the wetness I could feel gathering between my thighs.
