Chapter 3: Boundaries and Breaking Points

As soon as I walked out of the hospital, Derek called.

His name lit up my phone—an all-caps text that always made my heart stutter. I wiped the sweat from my palms, steeling myself for whatever mood he’d be in today.

“Where did you go?”

He didn’t bother with hello. His voice was cool, all business. I could hear the faint hum of an engine in the background.

I instinctively lied. “Shopping, buying you a birthday present.”

It rolled off my tongue so easily, I almost believed it myself. I’d learned to think on my feet, to survive his scrutiny.

He chuckled softly on the other end. “Another tie? Natalie, can’t you think of something new?”

His laugh was short, almost mocking. I closed my eyes, picturing his familiar smirk.

I took a deep breath and asked, “Then… what kind of present do you want?”

My voice sounded smaller than I intended, barely above a whisper. I braced myself for his answer.

After we hung up, he sent me a few lingerie photos. I nearly dropped my phone. Was he serious? I’d never even tried anything that risqué on, not even for myself. The images flashed on my screen—lace, silk, red and black, barely-there pieces I’d only ever seen in store windows. I felt my cheeks flush hot.

Derek always pushed boundaries. I could almost hear his smirk in the silence between us.

If I wore something like that, I’d die of embarrassment.

My mind raced through every worst-case scenario—slipping, tripping, him laughing. I tossed my phone aside and groaned into my pillow.

In the end, I didn’t buy the gift he expected. Since he didn’t like ties, I picked out a leather belt. After all, it was his money anyway.

I chose it carefully—smooth, dark brown, the kind that looked expensive but wouldn’t draw too much attention. The saleswoman wrapped it up in a navy box and wished me a good day. I stuffed the receipt deep in my bag, feeling oddly triumphant.

When I got home, he wasn’t back yet. Today was his birthday. He usually spent it with his childhood friends. I figured he’d come home late again, so I ate alone, took a shower, and got ready for bed.

I nuked some leftover mac and cheese, watched a rerun of The Office, and listened to the neighbors’ TV through the wall. The laugh track felt like company, just for a second. The apartment felt emptier than usual. I folded the laundry, brushed my teeth, and slipped into my softest pajamas.

Just as I stepped out of the bathroom, someone hugged me tightly from behind.

I startled, the scent of his cologne hitting me first. His arms locked around my waist, strong and sure. The city buzzed outside, but in here, all I felt was his presence—inescapable and overwhelming.