That was amazing. You have to tell me everything about your partner. Savvy MAJORLY undersold you guys. He's a total secret weapon. And Maddy ... for what it's worth ... the way that man studies you when you're talking has nothing to do with operational logistics. Don't let that one go. He's a keeper.
A hot blush floods my entire body. I glance up, and Mason is watching me, his eyes intent and searching. He knows. He doesn’t know what the text says, but he knows it’s about him. He knows a truth has been confirmed, one we’ve both been ignoring, now spoken aloud by a stranger.
“Good news?” he asks, his voice neutral.
I can’t speak. I nod, shoving my phone into my pocket as if it were radioactive. He holds my eyes for a long moment, and in them, I see it all. The satisfaction of our success, the memory of the drone controls, and a flicker of the same terrifying hope that’s doing loop-the-loops in my stomach. He’s my partner. And as he gives me one last, lingering glance before heading back to the loft, I’m hit with the deafening, heart-stopping realization that I’m in far, far deeper than I ever imagined.
CHAPTER TEN
MASON
The barn feels different. There's a new energy here. Subtle, steady, and hers. With Maddy at the center, it feels less like a workspace and more like a place I could belong.
I remember the way her face had flushed when her phone buzzed after the Clara and Ben meeting. The way she'd put it away, but not before I'd caught the radiating warmth in her eyes, the bright, unguarded joy. She hadn't said what the message contained, but the understanding between us now was unmistakable. News that was good, hopeful, and undeniably about us. And the thought, while terrifying, settled deep in my chest, bringing a soft sense of relief.
This new, fragile happiness, however, brings with it an unsettling awareness. The Morrison Center's victory over Henry's father's holdings had been swift, decisive. We'd dismantled decades of careful manipulation, exposed the rot at the foundation of his empire. Yet in the months since, silence. Not the silence of defeat, but a pause charged with intent. One that made my skin crawl with unease.
How long does it take a wounded dragon to grow another head?
I'd expected retaliation. Lawsuits, counter-moves, the vicious legal warfare I know so well from my own dark years. Henry's father isn't a man who accepts defeat gracefully. He is the type to nurse grudges like fine wine, letting them age until they become weapons. Yet here we are, basking in what felt like victory, while somewhere in the shadows, I know he is plotting.
The stillness feels too neat. Too absolute. Men like him don't disappear after losing everything. They regroup. They rebuild. They come back swinging, turning their original transgressions into a warm-up act.
I remain in the loft, my supposed sanctuary, but even its orderly space feels precarious now. From this vantage point, I watch Maddy below, a swirl of color and determined energy. She is humming a pop tune, sorting fabric swatches, her brow furrowed in concentration as she sketches out new dreams. Every detail of her vibrant existence screams of creation, of building, of pure, unadulterated hope.
And it is that hope that worries me most.
Not because it's misplaced, but because it matters. Too much to risk at the hands of bitter men clinging to power through destruction. Henry's father may have lost his empire, but he still has connections, favors owed. And wounded dragons don't die easily.
My hands, usually so steady, flex on the keyboard. I try to immerse myself in Morrison Center documents, but my mind keeps circling back to the same questions. What is he planning? When will the other shoe drop? How many heads does this particular dragon possess?
Maddy's laughter rises up the stairs, clear and unguarded, slicing through my brooding thoughts. I catch myself watchingher, how fully she gives herself to every task, how much faith she puts in what we're building.
Maybe that's the point of all this. Not to brace for shadows that may never come, but to realize that light shows up in the most unexpected places. In this barn, watching her bring someone else's vision to life, I'm starting to believe in a possibility I never thought real. That healing can begin even while the hurt is still fresh.
The dragon might grow new heads. Henry's father might be plotting my downfall from whatever hole he's crawled into. But in this moment, there is light streaming through the windows, casting golden squares across Maddy's workspace, and she is humming off-key while creating beauty.
Maybe I've spent too long in the shadows. Maybe the real victory isn't outmaneuvering every threat but choosing to build a life that matters. One strong enough to stand against whatever comes, and steady enough to remind me why it's worth the fight.
The past rarely stays buried, but neither does hope, it seems. And watching Maddy work, seeing the Morrison Center take root in this community, feeling the sturdy pulse of purpose that has replaced the hollow ambition of my former life, perhaps that is enough. Perhaps that is everything.
I close my laptop and lean back in my chair, letting my gaze settle on the scene below. Maddy has moved to a table, fabric unfurled beneath her hands, a map of possibilities waiting to take shape.
She pauses, tilting her head as she considers her next move, and the light slides across her hair, revealing hints of blue and violet buried in the black, like oil on water.
The dragon can wait.
Right now, it’s her that matters. Standing at her workbench, humming off-key, turning ribbon and wire into a design that feels a lot like joy. This borrowed barn space, once a temporaryfix, has become something softer. More grounded. A refuge. And she? She’s the reason it feels that way.
Not due to any grand declarations she’s made, but simply due to her presence. With movement. With the steady focus of someone doing what they’re meant to do. It doesn’t need my interference, only my attention. Some connections are built in silence, formed not through words but in simply watching someone be good at what they love.
How did I get here?
I built a career dismantling things. Contracts, companies, lives. I’ve always been the guy who shows up when things end. But this place isn’t about endings. It’s about beginnings. The fabric she chose, the sketches she mapped out, the late nights we spent refining every detail, they’re all part of a future taking shape. A life created with care, not carved out of damage.
And when the next fight comes, and it will, it’s not a project or a business I’ll be defending. It’s this moment. Her focus. Her steadiness. The hope that’s taken root here, where neither of us expected it.
The past doesn't stay buried. I know that.
