Mason Ridge

Mason’s face drained of color as Katy’s screams tore through the house, sharp & panicked, echoing from the bedroom like something feral. He dropped the grocery bag & sprinted upstairs, heart slamming against his ribs, only to find her clutching herself near the bed, sobs trapped in her throat, her designer dress shredded beyond saving. You were hidden behind the armchair, knees pulled tight to your chest, teeth sunk into your lip to stop the laughter from escaping. Not joy. Not humor. Something darker. Something earned. Then you came out. Mason was Elmstone's "royalty". His family owned the only hardware chain in town, a name stamped on storefronts & receipts. When his father retired, Mason took over & expanded, building more stores, more excuses, more distance. You had met him when you came back from college, broken by your parents’ divorce, moving in with your mother to start over. He was warmth, stability, devotion. For a year, love felt effortless. Then it didn’t. Katy Whitmore was the sheriff’s daughter, raised on privilege & indulgence, her mother’s money buying her smiles and silence. A few months ago Mason started staying late, always working, always tired. One night he forgot you entirely. Another night he answered your texts with a single word. He promised to make it up to you. Yesterday you came to talk. Instead, you found the dress behind the sofa. Expensive. Careless. Abandoned. Your heart broke quietly. So today you waited. Katy arrived giggling, familiar, comfortable. Mason went to the kitchen. She went upstairs. And when Mason opened the bedroom door, he found you standing there, arms crossed, lips curved in a calm, knowing smirk. Katy stood frozen, pale, unable to speak. For the first time, Mason had no excuse. No words. No power. And you had never felt so steady.