Chapter 139
Mason
"Come on." I grin, tugging Harry out of his chair, the bass of the song pulsing in my veins. "Dance with me."
"I can't dance," he insists, digging his heels in like I'm dragging him to a firing squad.
"Liar. You had to learn for your cameo as a pro dancer in Firelight, remember?" I smirk. "I saw you nail that spin—twice."
"That's different," he mutters, looking anywhere but at me. "That was for a movie. It was choreographed."
"And the fundamentals are still there," I counter, leaning closer until he has no choice but to meet my grin.
"Besides, I helped you practice. You can't lie to me, Harry. And if I recall…" I tilt my head toward the speakers, "it was to this exact song."
His lashes flutter. "You remember that?"
"Of course I do." I shrug like it's no big deal, but my heart is pounding.
"Now stop stalling."
He blinks up at me for a second, then exhales and finally lets me pull him onto the dance floor. Victory.
At first, he's stiff, swaying like an awkward high schooler. But the music wraps around us, and I stay close, guiding him through the rhythm. "Just follow me," I murmur, letting my hands rest lightly at his waist.
"You're a natural."
He glares at me half-heartedly, but his steps loosen, his body syncing with mine. There it is. The same spark I saw months ago when we practiced for his cameo. His lips twitch like he's fighting a smile.
"You're good," I tease. "Stop pretending you're not."
Before he can retort, a voice cuts through the crowd: "Dance battle!"
Suddenly we're circled by laughing strangers. A couple across from us start showing off, pulling out spins and body rolls. The crowd hoots. Someone points at us. "You two are up next!"
Harry's eyes go comically wide. "Oh no. Mason, no."
"Oh yes." I waggle my brows. "Our reputations are on the line."
"We don't have reputations here," he hisses, cheeks pink.
"We will after this," I grin. "Trust me?"
He hesitates. Then, finally, he nods.
"Okay, you wanna go?" I challenge the other pair, stepping forward. Harry grabs my wrist like he wants to drag me back, but I wink. "Come on, we're not losing this."
"Mason, don't—"
"Too late," I grin, spinning him dramatically as the crowd explodes. We move in sync, hearts pounding, the energy electric.
***
Dorian POV
This is a VIP club, the kind where the drinks cost more than most people's rent and you have to sign an NDA just to breathe inside. Maybe I'll find someone to distract me tonight, someone pretty and pliant.
I swirl my glass, the expensive liquor burning as it goes down. It doesn't take the edge off my anger. Every omega who approaches me these days is the same—wide-eyed and fake sweet, hoping I'll introduce them to that blasted foundation. They don't want me; they want access. Each one vanishes within weeks.
Fucking Ivan.
I know he's behind it.
Then I hear it.
"Oh, they're definitely screwing."
"It's so obvious."
My head snaps toward the railing. And there they are, on the dance floor: Harry and Mason Greene, laughing like fools, dancing like they don't have a care in the world. The sight sours my mood even further. Adults, acting like lovesick teenagers.
This? This is what Harry left for? I look on with distate.
***
Mason POV
"Come on," I tell Harry, pulling him closer on the dance floor. He's glowing under the lights, curls damp with sweat, and the heat between us tonight is electric. The alcohol in my veins makes me braver, happier. Maybe, just maybe, we'll finally close the distance between us fully tonight.
"I'll get us drinks," I murmur, brushing a kiss against his temple before heading to the bar. "Two shots, please."
This club is one of the few places celebs can breathe—a velvet cage where the rich and famous can pretend to be normal. I'm halfway turned back when I collide with someone.
"Oh, I'm so—" The apology dies on my lips.
Dorian Black.
He smirks like the devil. "Ah. Mr. Greene."
I don't dignify him with a response. My jaw clenches as I wait for the bartender. I need to get back to Harry before this bastard even spots him.
"I see your partner out tonight," Dorian drawls, voice slick with poison.
Night officially over. I slap my card down. "Put it on my tab," I mutter and turn on my heel.
Harry blinks when I grab his elbow. "We should head out," I say.
He doesn't argue—bless him. Outside, under the cool night air, we wait for the car.
"I'm sorry for cutting the night short," I say.
"That's fine. All that dancing wore me out," Harry replies, leaning into me. I wrap my arms around him, feeling his warmth. He tilts his head back and he's so cute I want to kiss him.
"You can," he says softly.
"Oh? I said that out loud?" My lips twitch.
He laughs, rises on his toes, and I meet him halfway. His lips are soft, sweet, everything.
We pull back, just barely. His breath ghosts against my lips. My heart is pounding like I've just run a marathon. I want to say something clever, but before I can—
"Well. I wondered where you ran off to."
The voice is like ice water down Harry's spine. I feel him stiffen instantly, curling back into himself. That open glow on his face slams shut, replaced by that old fear I thought we'd buried.
And behind us, there he is: Dorian Black.
I step in front of Harry without thinking, my arm automatically sweeping him behind me. My voice comes out sharper than intended.
"What is it? A bit sad, spying on your ex and his new partner?"
Dorian scoffs. "Oh, please. Harry was never my lover."
"Even more reason to leave us alone," I snap.
He tilts his head, self-satisfied. "Clearly, I have something special. Each of my toys ends up like this." He gestures lazily toward Harry.
My blood boils. He has the audacity to reduce Harry to a toy after everything he put him through?
Ah, this fucking asshole. He would never say this shit to Zander Vale; he picks his targets. I guess I look like the easier one. That's his mistake.
"Or," I say evenly, stepping closer, "you're just someone who doesn't know the worth of anything. It's amazing you're still a CEO when you've been cucked twice."
His eyebrow twitches. Finally, a crack in that perfect mask. "It's you two who keep going for my sloppy seconds."
Okay, that's it.
I don't even think. My fist connects with his jaw in a satisfying crunch. He stumbles back, stunned, before launching himself at me. It turns into a scuffle fast—my profession doesn't allow for brawls, but something about Dorian Black makes my hands itch. He's so bloody punchable.
Harry yelps behind me as we collide with the hood of a parked car. I make sure every swing counts, landing hits to that smug face. He gets a few hits in too—my lip is split, knuckles scraped—but I don't care. Every punch feels like justice on behalf of every omega he's hurt.
"Stop! Stop it!" staff shout as security from the club rushes out. They drag Dorian back while another bouncer wedges himself between us.
"This isn't over," Dorian snarls, wiping blood from his mouth.
"Yeah, it is," I growl. "You don't get to hurt him ever again."
Security hauls him toward the VIP entrance, muttering about NDA clauses and fines. I turn immediately to Harry. His eyes are wide, but he's not crying—just pale and a little shaken.
I cradle his face with bruised knuckles. "Harry. You okay?"
He swallows, nods, then whispers, "You didn't have to fight him for me."
His lips tremble, and then—God—he leans into my chest. I wrap him up, holding him tight against me. The night air smells like cold asphalt and adrenaline, but Harry in my arms makes everything warm again.
Suddenly I feel like going to hit that asshole once more.