Part 3This summer echoes

That’s when I saw the business opportunity.

Mason was seriously rich. His mom, living abroad, had already paved every path for him.

He’d play golf, and I’d be there as part of the “atmosphere crew,” fetching his water and jacket.

He’d confront me about it.

I’d look up at him, my eyes wide and starry.

“I just admire you, big brother. Is that not allowed?”

He’d transfer money to me.

“Go shop if you’ve got nothing to do. Just stop bothering me.”

So, I’d happily accept.

I clung to Mason for over a year.

Everyone knew he had a stepsister, and they even joked about us, saying next time they’d come visit him in therapy.

Eventually, Mason just stopped bothering to explain. He just kept telling me to take the money and leave.

But I wasn’t about to leave my personal ATM.

For Mason’s eighteenth birthday, he drank a lot.

When he came home from the hotel, I was there, one hand holding a hangover soup, the other helping to steady him.

I hoped he’d be so drunk he’d accidentally add an extra zero to a transfer.

He squinted, looking down at me, and then suddenly said,

“Chloe, you’re really cunning and manipulative.”

There was a hint of mockery in his tone.

My foot, mid-step on the stairs, froze.

Being insulted required additional compensation.

He suddenly gripped my waist, his hand shutting off the lights in one smooth motion. I was pressed against the spiral staircase railing, his lips on mine.

My vision went dark in an instant.

Only his face, magnified, filled my view.

His breath was a storm.

I gasped, pushing him away abruptly. The bowl in my hand clattered to the floor, rolling down the stairs.

My stepfather called from upstairs, “Chloe, what happened?”

I suppressed my trembling voice, crying out in a wounded tone, just like always, “Mason’s drunk! He’s throwing a fit and even broke my bowl!”

Mason stood silently, leaning against the railing in the dimness, his gaze downcast.

My stepfather sighed.

“He’s just like that, gets crazy when he drinks. Don’t mind him, go back and rest. I’ll help him.”

I fled back to my room.

Three in the morning.

Mason messaged me.

[I’m sorry.]

[I couldn’t see clearly. I thought you were someone else.]

It was the first time he’d ever apologized to me.

But it felt like an insult.

He attached a transfer.

I didn’t accept it, and I didn’t reply.