Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
I may have cheated a little. I simply didn't have time for that.
In the dark place was the box, like always. Somehow, I was in control and Mads was weaker—maybe because of the words Dr. Resnick had said when he put me under: "You are the primary and you are in control. You do not have to be afraid."
So I—
I shoved Mads in the box and locked it, then threw away the key.
And... it worked.
Now, for the first time in years, I feel whole. Not perfect—there are still moments when I feel the pull, the urge to slip away. But I stay present. I breathe through it. I remain.
And now, because I faced her and stayed in control, I have courage. I can be the strong one now.
I never told Domhnall why we would switch before—why Mads would take over whenever things got intimate. I couldn't put it into words then, but now I understand. It's that moment when I feel him—his cock—pressing against me.
And it is true terror. Like I can't even describe.
But it's also excitement.
The adrenaline response used to flip me over to Mads instantly. It's a similar feeling to being in danger. But it's not danger. Once I push past the terror, it's so...
I lean my hip against the back of the couch as memories of last night flood my mind: Domhnall's weight pressing me into the mattress, his hands pinning my wrists, the delicious burn as he stretched me open. The way he whispered in my ear, filthy promises that made me shiver and arch beneath him.
He'd taken me against the kitchen counter yesterday, rough and demanding in a way he never would have dared before. I'd told him not to hold back, and God, he didn't. I touch my throat, feeling the tender spots where his fingers pressed, where his teeth marked me. The bruises on my hips where he'd gripped me tight enough to leave impressions of his fingertips.
And most importantly, I was there for all of it. Present. Whole.
I was worried at first that pretending to be Mads was wrong somehow. But is it really pretending when she's a part of me? When those desires and needs are mine too, just buried deeper? Dr. Resnick helped me understand that. There's no more Anna or Mads—just me, complete at last.
After Domhnall's initial shock and worry that I'd done something dangerous by seeking treatment without telling him, he'd embraced it. Embraced me. All of me.
"I've loved every version of you," he'd said, holding my face in his hands. "But seeing you whole—it's like watching the sun come out after years of rain."
The doorbell rings, and I startle.
Right! The apples.
I fly to the door and whip it open, all smiles for my Instacarter, ready to take the bags.
Except it's not a harried gig worker waiting to hand over bags of apples.
It's a six-foot-five man dressed entirely in black.
My body reacts before my brain can catch up.
I try to slam the door in his face, but a beefy arm blocks it, pushing against the wood with frightening ease.
"Matilda Sheffield?" His voice is deep, his face emotionless.
The last name hits me like ice water. Sheffield. My father's name. Not the name on our mailbox or any of my current identification. Who is he, and how the hell did he find me?
"No," I gasp, shoving my weight against the door. "Wrong house!"
But he's so much stronger.
The door gives way under his pressure, sending me stumbling backward into the foyer.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I take in his massive form now fully inside our home—broad shoulders, muscled arms, closely cropped dark hair.
He's wearing some kind of tactical gear beneath his jacket.
Our security system should be blaring right now. Domhnall insisted on the best: motion sensors and door alerts, everything connected to a central monitoring station. But there's nothing. Just silence. But then again, I opened the door.
Oh god, I let him in.
"I know who you are," he says, his eyes cold as they scan me. "Let's not make this difficult."
Terror floods my system. I turn to run for the kitchen, where my phone is on the counter. I just need to reach it, call Domhnall, call nine-one-one, call anyone—
But the man moves with surprising speed for his size. His arms wrap around my waist from behind, lifting me off my feet as I kick and scream.
"Let me go!" I claw at his forearms, but it's like scratching at steel. "Help! Somebody help me!"
This can't be happening. Not now. Not when everything is finally right. Not when I'm whole and happy and planning a future with the man I love. The wedding, the pie in the kitchen, the family we're going to build—it can't end like this.
I fight harder, drawing on every ounce of strength in my body. I remember the self-defense classes Domhnall insisted I take. I angle my head back sharply, connecting with the man's nose. He grunts but doesn't loosen his grip.