Todos los capítulos de MY UNDOING: Capítulo 11 - Capítulo 20

MACEY I was spent. Every part of me felt like it had been drained, like my body was no longer my own. My skin tingled, trembling under the echoes of what we’d just done, but even as I tried to gather myself, I felt Damien’s presence, felt him everywhere. His fingers, impossibly light brushed over my shoulders, tracing down to my nipples, and my body betrayed me all over again. I groaned quietly, biting my lip as a fresh heat pooled low in my belly. I couldn’t help it. I was soaking, my thighs pressing instinctively together, wanting, needing, aching. His eyes caught me like he had every time, dark, hungry, and aware of exactly how much I was already undone. “Damn, Macey,” he muttered, voice low and rough, vibrating in my chest. “Look at you… all trembling, all wet. You still want me?” “Yes,” I whispered, shivering, “I… I want you, daddy. I want you.” The way my words seemed to pull something raw and animalistic out of him made my stomach clench. His hands slapped my breasts l

MACEY Zinna was glaring daggers at us the moment we stepped through the door. Her eyes were sharp, her posture stiff—like she’d been standing there rehearsing this exact confrontation. Great. Thursday just got worse. “Why in God’s name were you late, Carter?” she snapped, her voice crisp enough to slice through glass. Oh, we were back to surnames. Wonderful. Always a good sign when your boss starts addressing you like a misbehaving intern instead of a functioning adult. I forced a small, nervous smile, trying to come up with something that sounded halfway reasonable. My brain scrambled for words, but before I could open my mouth, Damien stepped forward like it was second nature to rescue me. “Her car broke down,” he said smoothly, his voice calm and unbothered. “I saw her on my way here, waiting for her mechanic or something. She looked frustrated, so I gave her a ride.” The ease in his tone made it sound so believable I almost believed it myself. Zinna’s eyes flicked between u

MACEY Fun? Fun my ass. I hoped his date was a disaster. I hoped the model I saw in his office spilled red wine all over that stupidly perfect shirt of his. I hoped she tripped in her heels, broke a nail, and made the whole restaurant stare. Yeah. I hoped for all of it. God, I was mad. That bastard. She was pretty—like, really pretty. The kind of girl who looked like she belonged on a yacht, sipping champagne and laughing at something expensive. Long dark hair, legs for days, the kind of confidence that screamed I get what I want. And maybe that was exactly why I couldn’t stop replaying it in my head. Damien sitting across from her, probably giving her that calm, smug half-smile. Maybe leaning forward just a little, pretending to listen while quietly making her melt. He had that effect—like he could make anyone feel like they were the only person in the room. I felt sick just thinking about it. By the time I made it back to my office, I was one glare away from setting somethin

MACEY It took every ounce of strength I had to finally drag myself out of Damien’s arms the next morning. My body was a soggy mess of exhaustion and satisfaction, every muscle still humming from the intensity of the night. The bed felt like it had betrayed me, leaving me weak in ways I hadn’t thought possible. Fridays were my off days, and after everything, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been so grateful for one. I made sure Damien missed the so-called “7 p.m. appointment” he’d promised that model. Honestly, I didn’t want to picture him charming someone else, not after… everything. He had tried his usual persuasive charm, that infuriating smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, begging me to stay over until he returned home. But I’d been firm. I had things to do, errands to run, a life to maintain outside of him—even if my heart wasn’t entirely convinced I could. He’d eventually relented, though I could see the faint shadow of disappointment cross his face—just a sha

MACEY Who the hell is this? I stared at my phone like it had personally offended me. The number was unknown, and yet, curiosity got the better of me. “Who is this?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s David,” came the calm, familiar reply. I groaned. Of course. David. My ex. My “what-could-have-been,” who apparently had no idea how to leave the past where it belonged. My thumb hovered over the message thread, and I stared at the last text he sent months ago. Yes, I had left it on read. Yes, I had ignored him because, frankly, I couldn’t bring myself to reply. “Why now?” I muttered under my breath, staring at the screen. “Why does he need to see me now?” The answer came too easily. He was getting married. Of course he was. Because why would life let me sleep on a great guy—someone who deserved me—for…well, for reasons that were stupid in retrospect? “Oh, fuck him,” I whispered to myself. Then the other part of me—guilty, selfish, stubborn—chimed in. “Actually…fuck me