Chapter 100 — Mason POV
I watch as Harry eats the breakfast I made—avocado toast, scrambled eggs, and a glass of orange juice. He's sitting across from me in one of my soft grey kitchen stools, legs tucked under himself like he's still unsure if he's allowed to take up space.
He hasn't said much.
But he eats, slowly, silently, like someone learning how to breathe again. Like someone waiting to wake up from a dream that's not a nightmare for once.
I don't push. I don't ask. I just sit, sip my coffee, and let the quiet fill the room.
I always imagined waking up one morning with Harry in my apartment. Thought about it more times than I'll admit. But I never imagined it like this. Not with bruises hiding under hoodie sleeves. Not with him flinching at the sound of cutlery against the plate.
Still, he's here. And my chest swells with something I can't name.
But the peace doesn't last.
A loud, persistent knocking shatters the silence.
Harry goes still.
His shoulders lock, and I see it—the fear. The way he clenches the fork in his hand like it might save him. The way his gaze darts toward the hallway, toward the door, like he's calculating an escape.
I'm already moving.
"Stay here," I murmur. "It's okay."
I cross the floor, heart pounding. It's probably no one. Mail. A neighbor. Something benign.
But through the peephole, I see a wild mess of blond hair and—
Oh no.
Ivan.
I brace myself and open the door.
He bursts in with zero hesitation, clutching a bottle of champagne like he's about to throw a party. "I brought alcohol," he declares. "
Behind him, another figure approaches the door—tall, immaculately dressed, sharp-eyed.
Zander Vale.
I straighten a little.
His gaze sweeps over me like he's measuring my worth in a glance, but then he exhales, voice low and surprisingly respectful. "I apologize for the intrusion."
I blink.
"It's okay," I say. "I understand."
He steps inside, posture relaxed but precise, like he's ready to snap into action if need be. I instinctively give him space. He scares me a little. There's a weight to him. A quiet, coiled power.
But Ivan softens it somehow. Like a chick perched on the back of a dangerous guard dog.
I turn toward the kitchen. Harry is still seated, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes.
Ivan waves a hand dramatically. "Harry, my darling. You look like a haunted Victorian orphan. Come here, let your honorary godmother inspect you."
Harry doesn't move.
Harry stands slowly, cautiously. Ivan walks right up and pulls him into a tight hug, cradling the back of his head.
"Oh, baby boy," Ivan says softly. "I'm so proud of you."
That cracks something in Harry.
He doesn't cry, but his lips tremble, and his shoulders drop. Like someone just took a weight off his back.
Ivan lets go only to squeeze his arms. "You fought back. You ran. That coward won't know what hit him."
"Is he… still looking for me?" Harry asks quietly.
Zander finally speaks again, voice cool and crisp. "If he is, he won't find you."
I glance at him.
He meets my gaze, and though he says nothing else, I believe him. This man has connections. Power. And if Ivan loves Harry as much as it seems, Dorian's time is up.
Actually I don't want him to but in, I can deal with Dorian myself, now that Harry is not witt him anymore there is no need for me to hold back.
"Thank you," Harry says.