All Chapters of MY UNDOING: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

DAMIEN This girl—whatever her name was—was getting on my nerves. Bad. The kind of bad where every word that came out of her mouth scraped against me like nails on glass. She stood there with her chin lifted, acting like she had the right to challenge me. Seriously. She needed to know her place. I kept wondering when, exactly, I’d given her the impression she could talk back to me. The sharpness in her tone when she threw shade at Macey? That was it.That was the line no one crossed. I didn’t care about much, but disrespecting Macey in front of me was like walking into a fire and daring me to throw gasoline on it. Macey was untouchable. Everyone knew that. Everyone but her. She glared at me like she was testing how far she could push before I snapped. Her eyes were dark and challenging, almost begging me to put her in her place. “She’s the one, isn’t she?” she hissed, every syllable dripping with venom. “The reason you touched me that night. She’s blonde. Like me.” Her words landed

MACEY I was mad. Mad at myself, mad at Damien, mad at the whole night before.My chest still felt heavy, like I was carrying around a storm that refused to settle. I couldn’t sit with it. The thoughts, the what-ifs, the way his voice had lingered in my head—it was all too much.The second I got home, I grabbed my phone and texted Zinna. I’m sick. I typed it fast, before I could overthink it. Cold from staying in the office too late. That sounded way more professional than the truth, which was: I’m spiraling and need space before I lose my mind. After hitting send, I tossed the phone on my bed and headed for the bathroom. The shower was supposed to rinse everything away—the tension, the confusion, the way Damien’s name seemed to be carved under my skin.I told myself I’d just stand there for ten minutes, fifteen tops. But time didn’t care. One minute turned into an hour, then another, and before I knew it, I’d been standing under the hot spray for almost three hours. My skin was pink

MACEY What the hell are you doing here? That was the first thing I said when Damien finally let go of my face. He didn’t answer. Not really. He just pressed his forehead to mine like he needed the anchor, his chest rising and falling so hard I could feel it in my own bones. His voice was low, almost broken, whispering the same word over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Sorry? God, no. If only he knew. I wasn’t sorry at all. My lips still tingled, my pulse racing like it had just discovered a new beat it preferred over the old one. That kiss wasn’t something I regretted—it was something I wanted to frame, replay, and live inside of forever. And instead of being smart, instead of pushing him away like a version of me with actual self-control would’ve done, I leaned in and kissed him again. Quick. Desperate. Hungry. When I pulled back, I practically stumbled to the door, locking it fast, because apparently we lived in a reality where Damien Blackwood showed up at

MACEY Samantha left my place as early as she could the next morning, thanks to my brother’s inability to chill for even a few hours. Mason texted her he was waiting outside, like she was sneaking out of a college dorm instead of my apartment. I hugged her tight, soaking up every second before she slipped away. “Text me when you get home,” I called, and she waved from the hall like the sweet mom friend she was. The second the door closed, I didn’t even bother going back to bed. I had work by nine, and my mind was already buzzing. I showered long enough to steam up the entire bathroom, layered scents until I smelled like a bakery, and sprayed an inhumane amount of perfume while giggling like a schoolgirl. Pathetic. Completely, hopelessly pathetic. But I didn’t care. I looked good. I felt good. And yeah, I’d dressed with someone specific in mind. When I got to the office, I went straight for the top floor. I told myself it was business—that I needed to talk to Damien about, you know

MACEY Damien had ruined me. There was no denying it. The man had somehow crawled under my skin and made it impossible to breathe without thinking of him. He was in my head, my pulse, my every stupid heartbeat. It was embarrassing, really, how easily I gave in whenever he looked at me like that — like I was the only thing keeping him sane. I tried to focus at work after what happened in his office, but honestly? I was useless. My brain was a mess of replayed moments and sensations I didn’t even want to name. Every time I caught the faintest trace of his cologne on my clothes, my stomach flipped. Every sound reminded me of him — the click of my heels down the hallway, the rustle of paper, even the sound of the elevator. Everything. By noon, I couldn’t take it anymore. I told my team I was heading out early — something about not feeling well, which wasn’t entirely a lie. I felt used. Emotionally. Physically. Completely. The moment I got home, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed