Chapter 28
TWENTY-EIGHT
ANNA
The morning light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of our suite at Amangiri, painting the concrete walls with golden stripes.
Domhnall’s side of the bed is empty, the sheets cool to the touch.
I sit up slowly, listening for him, but the only sound is the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the distant call of a desert bird.
“Mads?” I whisper into the emptiness, my voice barely audible even to myself. “Are you there?”
Nothing. Not even an echo of her signature sarcasm or irritation.
I’ve been doing this every morning since we arrived at this stunning desert sanctuary two weeks ago, hoping that maybe the change of scenery and the distance from Dallas and all its complications might somehow shift something inside me.
But each morning brings the same hollow silence… and the same sinking feeling in my stomach.
I obviously couldn’t risk staying at home after the last attack, especially when it was clear the tattooed man had been taking orders from someone else.
But I couldn’t imagine leaving Domhn, either.
I need Mads. I can’t seem to make any decision one way or another without her. I’m the weak one. The one who hides.
So I sprang this “early honeymoon” on Domhn to try to have it both ways for just a little longer.
Keep him and try to get Mads back. We should be safe here.
I did all the research and found that celebrities and wealthy clients from all around the world come here for a reason.
Not only is it remote, but they have top-notch security.
But it’s been so long since I last heard her voice in my head. So many days of silence where there should be chaos. So many days of just... me.
I slip out of bed, my bare feet meeting cool stone as I pad to the bathroom. The face in the mirror is unmistakably mine—eyes clear, expression open. No hint of her sharpness in the curl of my lips, no dangerous glint in my gaze.
Just me. Just Anna.
And it terrifies me. Have I lost her completely?
It’s not that I miss her, exactly. Mads is cruel, reckless, and dangerous.
She’s the part of me that survived when I couldn’t, the shield I built to protect myself from the horror of our childhood.
But she’s also a part of me—a fundamental piece of who I am.
Without her, I feel... incomplete. Unbalanced.
Vulnerable.
The shower helps a little, hot water sluicing over my skin, steam fogging the glass walls. I close my eyes, trying to feel for her presence somewhere in the recesses of my mind. Nothing. Just my own thoughts, circling like restless birds.
By the time I’ve dressed in light cotton pants and a loose top—practical desert wear—Domhnall has returned with coffee and a tray of fresh fruit.
The suite opens onto a private terrace, and he’s set up breakfast out there, the morning cool enough to warrant dragging out a throw to wrap around my shoulders.
“Morning, love,” he says, pressing a kiss to my temple. His eyes are warm, crinkled at the corners with a smile that still makes my heart flutter. “Sleep well?”
“Like a dream,” I lie, accepting the coffee he offers. The ceramic mug is warm against my palms, grounding me in the physicality of the moment.
Domhnall studies me over the rim of his own cup, his gaze too perceptive. He’s learned to read the subtle shifts in my demeanor, the small tells that used to signal which version of me he was with. But lately, there’s been confusion in his eyes—as if he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing.
“You’ve got your call with Dr. Ezra today, yeah?” he asks, reaching for a slice of melon from the fruit platter.
I nod, grateful that he remembers without me reminding him. “At eleven. It’ll be good to check in.”
“Perfect timing,” he says. “I’ve got a conference call then too. Quinn’s having some trouble with the Singapore office.”
A comfortable silence settles between us as we eat breakfast, watching the play of morning light across the desert landscape. It’s beautiful here—stark and honest in a way that speaks to something deep inside me. No pretense, no hiding. Just what is in front of you.
“I thought we might try that hiking trail today,” Domhnall says after a while, breaking into my thoughts. “The one that goes up to the lookout point. The concierge mentioned the spectacular views.”
I swallow down a spike of anxiety and nod. “Sounds perfect.”
The morning stretches ahead of us, simple and uncluttered. Breakfast on the terrace, a few hours of work and therapy, then an afternoon of exploration. It should be idyllic. It would be, if not for the constant, gnawing awareness of something missing inside me.
Our suite at Amangiri comes with a small study—a concrete cube softened by natural textiles and a desk positioned to capture the view.
I’ve set up my laptop there for the video call with Dr. Ezra, and the door closed to give me privacy while Domhnall handles his own business out on the terrace.
Through the window, I can see him, shoulders set in a tense line as he navigates whatever crisis has arisen at his company in his absence.
The familiar chime of my video call pulls my attention back to the screen. Dr. Ezra’s face appears, slightly pixelated but clear enough. He’s in his office in Dallas, the familiar bookshelf visible behind him.
“Anna,” he greets me, his voice warm despite the digital distance between us. “How are you settling in at Amangiri?”
“It’s beautiful.” I angle the laptop so he can see a bit of the view beyond the window. “Peaceful. Exactly what we needed.”
He nods, his expression thoughtful. “And how are you feeling? Any changes since we last spoke?”
I hesitate, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of the desk. “Nothing’s changed. It’s still just... me. No sign of Mads.”
“And Red?” he asks quietly.
The name sends a chill through me, despite the warmth of the day.
“Nothing,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Just silence. But it feels... I don’t know. Like something’s lurking. Waiting.”
Dr. Ezra leans forward slightly, his expression serious.
“Anna, we’ve talked about how integration works.
It’s not about one alter disappearing or being ‘gone.’ It’s about the walls between parts of yourself becoming more permeable and fluid.
Mads isn’t gone. She’s a part of you that you’re starting to accept and incorporate into your whole self. ”
“But I can’t feel her,” I protest, frustration creeping into my voice. “I can’t hear her. And if she’s integrated, what about Red? Shouldn’t she be integrated too?”
“Integration isn’t always a linear process,” he explains patiently. “Different parts may integrate at different times, in different ways. What’s important is that you’re building awareness of all the parts of yourself—Mads, Red, and any others that might emerge.”
I shake my head, not entirely convinced. “It doesn’t feel like integration. It feels like abandonment. Like she’s just... gone. And I’m stuck here with whatever’s left.”
“Perhaps it’s not abandonment you’re feeling, but transformation,” he suggests. “Change can be disorienting, especially when it happens unexpectedly.”
“I don’t want to transform,” I mutter, aware that I sound like a petulant child. “I want things back the way they were! I want to understand what’s happening to me.”
Dr. Ezra’s expression softens with empathy. “I know this is difficult, Anna. But I’d like to try something that might help you connect with these parts of yourself. A technique that focuses on co-consciousness rather than separation.”
“Co-consciousness?” I repeat, the term sounding somewhat familiar from our previous sessions.
“It’s the idea that different parts of yourself can be aware of each other—can communicate and even collaborate,” he explains. “Instead of Mads taking over, or you pushing her away, you might learn to exist alongside one another.”
I consider this, trying to imagine what it would be like to share my consciousness with Mads instead of being supplanted by her. “And Red, too?”
Dr. Ezra nods. “Eventually, yes. All parts of yourself deserve acknowledgment, even the ones that frighten you. But we’ll start with Mads, since you already have a relationship with her.”
“How does it work? This co-consciousness thing?”
“I’d like you to try a meditation exercise,” he says.
“Find a quiet place where you won’t be disturbed.
Focus on your breath until you feel centered, then imagine a space where you and Mads might meet—a neutral territory, so to speak.
Some people visualize a room, or a garden, or even just a comfortable chair.
The specifics don’t matter as much as the intention. ”
It sounds simple enough, but also vague and a bit new-agey. Still, I’m desperate enough to try anything.
“Once you’ve created this space,” Dr. Ezra continues, “invite her in. Not to take over, just to join you. To talk, maybe, or simply to be present with you.”
“And if she doesn’t come?”
He smiles gently. “Then we try something else. This is a process, Anna. It takes time and patience.”
I breathe out. Fuck patience. I’m running out of time. I only have a little more than a week left here. What the hell am I supposed to do then?
We talk a bit more about logistics—how often to practice, what to do if I feel overwhelmed, and when to schedule our next call.
Through the window, I can see Domhnall still on his call, his expression serious as he gestures with one hand, making some point to whoever’s on the other end.
He looks every inch the powerful businessman, even here in this desert retreat, and I’m struck again by the strange duality of our lives—his world of corporate power plays and international deals, my world of fractured identities and psychological battlegrounds.
Somehow, against all odds, we’ve made it work. We’ve found a way to bridge those worlds. If I can do that, surely I can find a way to bridge the divided landscape of my own mind.