Chapter 2 - The Blind Loyalty of a Son
Mason’s face flushed a dark, furious crimson as he stepped between his sprawling mother and his bleeding wife. Instead of checking on Valerie—whose split lip was still oozing a thin line of red onto her chin—he dropped to his knees beside Beatrice, hovering over her with frantic concern.
“Mom! Mom, are you okay? What happened? Did she push you?” Mason’s voice cracked with unearned panic, his hands fluttering over Beatrice’s silk-clad shoulders as if she had just survived a catastrophic explosion.
Beatrice didn’t miss a beat. She squeezed her eyes shut, let out a theatrical, trembling gasp, and clutched her chest.
“She attacked me, Mason! Your wife—this ungrateful, cold-hearted monster—flew into a rage just because I asked her for my monthly allowance! She called me names, she screamed at the top of her lungs, and when I tried to reason with her, she shoved me to the floor! Look at my room, look at the broken vase! She’s unhinged!”
Valerie stood completely still. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, but her heart felt frozen solid, devoid of any warmth or confusion. She watched her husband—the man she had shared a bed with, supported through two failed business ventures, and whose student loans she had quietly paid off—slowly rise to his feet.
Mason turned toward Valerie, his eyes blazing with absolute contempt.
“Is this true?” Mason snarled, taking a threatening step forward. “You laid hands on my mother? Over what? Some petty money dispute? Are you out of your damn mind, Valerie?”
Valerie lifted her chin. She didn't flinch. She reached up with the back of her thumb, wiped a streak of blood from her lip, and stared directly into the eyes of the man she no longer recognized.
“Look at my face, Mason,” Valerie said, her voice terrifyingly calm, cutting through the tense air of the living room like a razor blade. “Look at my split lip. Your mother didn't just ask for money. She demanded it, insulted me, and when I refused to transfer the funds today, she slapped me across the face. Hard.”
Mason blinked, momentary confusion flickering across his features before he instantly hardened his expression again, refusing to entertain the truth.
“Don’t lie!” Mason barked, waving a hand dismissively. “My mother is an elderly woman. She wouldn't hurt a fly! You make ten times more money than I do, and you’ve always looked down on my family, haven't you? You think you own us because your corporate paycheck funds this house! Well, guess what? You don’t get to abuse my mother in her own home!”
“In *her* home?” Valerie repeated, a dark, humorless chuckle escaping her throat. “Mason, check the deed in your desk drawer. Whose name is on the mortgage? Whose bank account wired the down payment? Whose credit score secured this interest rate? It certainly isn't yours, and it damn sure isn't hers.”
Beatrice shrieked from the floor, still playing the victim to absolute perfection. “Hear that, Mason? She’s throwing her money in our faces! She treats us like homeless beggars living off her charity! How can you live with such a wicked, arrogant woman?”
That was all the push Mason needed. Blinded by resentment, toxic filial piety, and his own fragile ego, Mason lunged forward and grabbed Valerie by the upper arm, his fingers digging in painfully.
“Apologize to my mother right now,” Mason growled, shaking her slightly. “Or pack your bags and get out of this house tonight. We are done playing games.”
Valerie looked down at his hand gripping her arm. The last thread of marital affection snapped. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. Instead, a chilling smile touched the corners of her bruised lips.
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“Let go of me, Mason,” she whispered softly. “You’ll regret that grip by morning.”
TITLE: The Price of Entitlement
