Chapter 4: The Script I Can’t Escape

Long, pretty fingers grab the phone and he steps away to answer.

I don’t catch the details, but Mason agrees to something. The comments keep me posted:

[Main guy and real girl are finally gonna meet!]

[She’s so sweet, I’m dying—he won’t see her, so she gets his friends to invite him, brings a crowd so it’s not awkward, she’s just that gentle.]

[Why doesn’t he want to see her?]

[Because she ghosted him when she moved overseas. He’s still hurt—it’s a classic misunderstanding, young love vibes.]

[Sigh, clear up the drama already! I want my ship to sail!]

[No way—reunion stories are all about the back-and-forth: jealousy, tests, angst, and sweetness underneath.]

...

"Aubrey." Mason calls my name, voice quiet. "My friend’s having us over for dinner tomorrow. You want to come?"

"Um... not sure if I’ll be free."

I hesitate. No need to get in the way of the real girlfriend—she’s never done anything to me. But Mason’s friend group? I kinda want in.

I twirl a lock of hair around my finger, weighing my options. It’d be fun to see his friends’ reactions, to step into his world a little more, even just for one night.

He nods. "We’ll see tomorrow."

The apartment feels huge and empty, the silence almost deafening.

Mason’s not a talker, and neither am I. Besides work and the bedroom, we don’t have much to say.

I cough. "Aren’t you heading home?"

Mason sits on the other end of the couch, not picking up on the tension at all. He glances at me. "It’s late. Driving’s not safe."

"...Don’t you have a driver?"

"He’s off tonight."

"Oh." I offer, "Want me to have my assistant pick you up?"

Mason doesn’t even acknowledge the hint, just polite: "Thanks, but I’m good."

Me: ...

Before I can finish being annoyed, he walks over and kneels on one knee in front of me.

His face is serious, but his eyes are soft, searching mine like he’s looking for the next move in a game neither of us fully understands. My heart does a somersault. He takes my hand—hesitant, almost trembling. I can’t tell if he’s about to confess something or just say goodnight. Either way, I hold my breath, waiting for the next line in a script I’m not sure I want to read.