▌𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘖𝘕 𝘛𝘏𝘈𝘔𝘌𝘚
❛ do you know how 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘦𝘭𝘺 frustrating it is? ❜ he cut her off. ❛ to have to 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 you? to pretend like i don't feel 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 when i look at you?❜
starr's breath caught in her throat.
❛ because i do...
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chapter FORTY SIX here's to karma .
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starr leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, watching as mason scrolled through his phone. they were tucked away in the corner of a sleek, overpriced hotel bar—one of those places that thought dim lighting and jazz instrumentals made up for the fact that a single drink cost half a paycheck. mason had booked a room upstairs, apparently. she hadn't asked why.
he exhaled sharply, still looking at his phone. "the premiere's in london."
starr hummed. "figures."
mason glanced up. "you knew?"
"had a feeling. mark's obsessed with aesthetics. obviously, he wants his little indie tragedy to debut somewhere dramatic."
he huffed a laugh, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. there was something off about him—he'd been weird all evening, quieter than usual, like he was trying too hard to seem unbothered. the whole thing with ahliya and dylan had blown up spectacularly. people were talking. the press was eating it up. and now, regretting you was about to get all the free publicity in the world.
starr tapped her nails against the table. "you okay?"
mason's jaw tensed. "fine."
she tilted her head. "you sure? because you've been making that face for the past hour."
"what face?"
"the one where you look like you're either constipated or about to start a fight."
he let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "i'm not gonna start a fight, starr."
"so, constipation, then."
"jesus christ."
she grinned, but there was an edge to it. normally, this was the part where he'd roll his eyes, bite back with something equally snarky. but tonight, he just shook his head again, shifting in his seat.
starr narrowed her eyes. "mason."
he finally looked at her, really looked at her. "what?"
