Semua Bab MY UNDOING: Bab 21 - Bab 30

MACEY I was brushing my teeth when my phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen and nearly rolled my eyes out of my head. Damien: “I’m sorry.” That was it. No explanation. No context. Just two words and a period that somehow managed to sound smug. I rinsed my mouth, staring at my reflection in the mirror. “That’s it? Yeah, just I’m sorry?” I muttered, toothbrush hanging out of my mouth like a prop in a bad rom-com. Men. Complicated, broody, emotionally unavailable men, apparently. I tossed the toothbrush into the cup, grabbed my phone, and stared at the message again like maybe the screen would magically reveal more. But nope—just those same two words, sitting there like they owned the place. He’d snapped at me this evening for no reason, stormed off like some tortured hero from a tragic movie, and went radio silent all night. Now, hours later, this was his grand comeback? I’m sorry. Nope. Not tonight, Mr. Moody. I turned off my lamp, climbed into bed, and yanked the duvet over m

DAMIEN The doorbell rang just as I was about to open a beer. Figures. Timing had never been my strong suit. At first, I thought it was Macey. My pulse kicked up before I could stop it, that annoying pull in my chest tightening like it always did when she was near. But when I checked the peephole, it wasn’t her. It was the girl Zinna had sent to my office earlier in the week. My frown deepened. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” I opened the door, leaning against the frame. “What the hell are you doing here?” She smiled, that practiced, fake-sweet kind of smile. “Hey, Damien. Um, I was lost. Zinna said you lived close by and gave me your address. She said it’d be okay if I stayed here tonight.” I stared at her like she’d just told me the sky was green. “You’re serious?” She nodded. “Just one night. I’ll crash on the couch. You won’t even know I’m here.” I barked out a short laugh, the kind that didn’t reach my eyes. “Yeah, that’s not happening.” Her expression shifted — irritatio

MACEY After that sham of a lunch, I went home feeling like I’d been hit by a slow, invisible storm. My head was buzzing, my chest tight, and my emotions—God—somewhere between fury and heartbreak. I kicked off my shoes the second I stepped inside and dropped my purse onto the couch. The apartment felt unusually quiet, too still for my restless mind. The first thing I did when I got home was grab my phone. My thumb hovered over Damien’s name longer than I wanted to admit, like calling him would be admitting something—something bad. But I pressed it anyway. He picked up on the third ring. “Hi, Damien,” I said softly, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. My voice came out smaller, weaker. “Hey.” His voice was low, smooth, familiar, like warm smoke curling around my chest. “You sound off. You okay?” “I’m fine,” I lied. It was automatic, stupid even, because everything about me—my tight shoulders, the lump in my throat, the exhaustion—screamed the opposite. I placed my pho

MACEY I woke up with a strange, quiet kind of happiness humming in my chest. It was my birthday. It wasn’t like I was expecting fireworks or some big romantic gesture — it was a Monday for God’s sake. I still had to show up at work, sit through meetings, reply to emails that made me question my life choices, and pretend to be an adult when all I wanted was to be in bed with coffee and a good book. Still, there was something about birthdays that made everything feel lighter. Like maybe, just for one day, the world was a little softer. By the time I’d brushed my hair and zipped up my dress, my phone was already buzzing. Calls, texts, voice notes. Mom’s voice came through first, all warm and emotional, talking about the day I was born like it had happened yesterday. Then my brother’s chaotic message — a half-asleep mumble of “Happy birthday, Mace. Don’t do anything stupid.” Typical. And then there was Samantha. Always the best friend, always the first to make me laugh. Her text read

MACEY True to his word, Damien sent someone to deliver the gifts and the huge-ass bouquet like they were from strangers. I, of course, played along. The flowers arrived mid-morning, all lush and showy like something out of a perfume ad. My coworkers were drooling over them, and I pretended to have no clue who sent them. Inside, though, I was grinning like a fool because I knew exactly who they were from. By the time the clock hit four, I’d had enough of pretending to work. My laptop was already half-closed, my head somewhere between daydreaming about Damien’s voice and wondering what he had planned for the night. Sam called just as I was about to pack up. She wanted to know if I had plans, said she was thinking of dragging me out for drinks. I almost laughed. Why in God’s name would I want to go somewhere that didn’t involve Damien? I know how that sounds—pathetic, maybe. Like I’m some sex-starved maniac. But when it came to him, that’s exactly what I was. Every time he wasn’t ar