All Chapters of MY UNDOING: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

MACEY “Come on, Mace… you can’t be serious.” Samantha’s voice carried that tone. That mix of disbelief and judgment she was famous for. She sat cross-legged on my couch, arms folded like I’d just announced I was quitting my job to join a cult. “I thought it was just a fling,” she went on. “I was literally trying to set something up for you with one of my clients. He’s twenty-seven, an architect, gorgeous. I’m his mom’s fashion designer. Lovely woman. Mace, this man you’re seeing—Damien—he’s just going to use you.” I stared at her, completely dumbfounded. My heart still felt warm from Damien’s kiss at the door, and here she was, tossing cold water over everything. “Really, Sam?” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “You’re doing this again?” She blinked, as if she couldn’t believe I was defending him. “We’ve had this conversation before,” I said, standing up because sitting still made the anger bubble harder. “You don’t get to decide who’s right for me. And you sure as hell

MACEY Zinna glared at me before finally stepping out, her heels clicking against the floor with a sharp rhythm that made my pulse skip. I watched her retreat, every step she took stirring something primal inside me. She scared me, to be honest. But all that mattered was the storm of need that had been building between Damien and me, dark and electric, ready to explode. “Come here,” he said, voice low, thick with something dangerous. Predatory. My stomach twisted as I smirked, swaying my hips deliberately while walking toward him, letting the tension stretch taut in the space between us. I could practically feel the hunger radiating off him, see it in the way his gaze darkened with desire. The moment I reached him, he pulled me down onto his lap with a force that sent a jolt straight to my core. My ass landed perfectly, pressing against the hard press of him beneath me. God, he’d missed me. He’d needed me, and I felt it in the way his hands clenched at my hips, thumbs pressing

DAMIEN By the time I wrapped up for the day, my brain felt like scrambled wires. Every nerve was shot, and I was running on caffeine and frustration. All I wanted was to get home, take a long shower, and maybe drag Macey into it with me. I’d been texting her all day. Dirty texts, mostly. The kind that would’ve made her blush and type back something half-angry, half-flirty. Normally, she would’ve sent a quick stop distracting me followed by a smiley face or a “you’re impossible.” But today? Nothing. Not even a single dot. That was weird. At first, I figured she was just busy. Macey had this habit of diving headfirst into work when she wanted to forget the world, or me. She could go hours without blinking when she was in that zone. But as the hours dragged by, the office slowly emptying, and her name still didn’t show up on my screen, the weird feeling turned heavier. It settled low in my stomach, something between worry and irritation. I slung my jacket over my shoulder, grabbed

MACEY I was mad. Furious, actually. Every nerve in my body was screaming. The moment I got home, I threw my bag onto the couch, or maybe it was the floor—I didn’t even care and stormed straight into the bathroom. I needed to wash away everything. The day, the humiliation, the anger, the sadness. I needed to rinse it all down the drain. The shower was hot. Too hot. Scalding even, but I welcomed it. I stood there, letting the water pound down on me, my thoughts spinning faster than my heartbeat. My tears started silently at first, then gradually fell, burning my skin just as much as the heat. I was mad because I loved my job. I really did. I loved designing wedding dresses—the soft silk, the intricate lace, the delicate beading. I loved creating something beautiful that made people feel like magic. And now? Now I was back at the beginning. Humble beginnings. A blank slate. A pink slip. Fired because of… a man. Because of Damien. And because of Zinna’s ego. I wanted to call my

MACEY I was halfway down the stairs, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes, when I heard laughter drifting up from the living room. My parents’ laughter—loud, full, familiar—and another voice I didn’t recognize. A man’s voice. Deep, easy, confident. That was new. I frowned, glancing at the clock on the wall. It was barely past eleven. My parents never had guests this early unless it was family or one of Dad’s old business friends—the kind who talked about stocks, golf, and how “kids these days” were lazy. I caught one of the maids walking past with a pile of folded laundry. “Hey, who’s downstairs?” I asked. She smiled politely, shaking her head. “I’m not sure, Miss Macey. They didn’t tell us.” Great. Mysterious laughter. Always a good sign. As I got closer, I heard Mom’s voice ring out, cheerful and sweet. “Oh, she’ll be down any second. I told you she was just resting!” I stepped into the living room, and there he was—tall, dressed in a crisp white shirt and dark jeans, a boyi