I still remembered the day his parents died—how Mason's hands closed around my throat, squeezing, trembling.
His eyes were red-rimmed, swimming with tears.
"Do you have any idea? If your mother hadn't seduced my father—if she hadn't sent those photos to my mother—none of this would have happened."
"My mother was seven months pregnant. Seven months. That was my little sister. She never even got to see the world."
"How can I not hate you, Chloe? I want to kill you."
He spoke the cruelest words.
But his hands... they slowly loosened.
He knelt on the ground, his palms marked with the crescents of his own nails.
I knew—from the moment his parents died.
Our love had curdled into nothing but endless hatred.
A war that would only end when one of us stopped breathing.
I kept my head bowed as Mason walked past me, Rebecca cradled in his arms.
Clatter.
A small box landed at my feet.
Allergy medication.
I'd been born with hypersensitive skin—my list of triggers could fill a medical textbook. When Mason first learned about it, he'd started carrying these pills everywhere.
I picked up the box, popped it open, and placed a white tablet on my tongue.
Bitterness flooded my mouth instantly.