With Phil, I bet Timmy’s playing it differently. “Yes, Daddy, look at the perfect onions I curated just for you.”
I used to think that kind of behavior was just Timmy being thorough, that maybe I could learn something from his attention to detail. But now I know it was just a control flex.
A power play.
And this is why I need to cut all of them off. Permanently. No second chances, no lingering connections. It’s the only way to protect myself.
A couple of hours later, my phone buzzes again. Another voicemail.
This time, Phil’s tone is venomous. “I’m calling about getting Timmy’s things,” he growls. “Youneedto call me back.” His voice breaks at the end, the cracks in his patience starting to show.
The demand hangs in the air, heavy with entitlement. He sounds beside himself that I haven’t yet returned his earlier call.
“No, Phil,” I say out loud, my voice firm in the quiet of my apartment. “I don’tneedto do anything.”
I sit down, my hands trembling as I call the police non-emergency line. My voice is steady as I explain the situation. The TRO is crystal clear—third parties are not allowed to contact me on Timmy’s behalf.
This is a violation, plain and simple.
The dispatcher on the other end sends officers to take my report, their tone professional and reassuring. “We’ll handle this,” they say.
A sense of calm washes over me. Timmy and Phil may think they can still control me, manipulate me, but they’re wrong. They have no power over me anymore.
They can’t get to me.
And if they try? There will be consequences.
CHAPTER 144
THE DEXMATIZATION OF MARGAUX
MARGAUX
The past couple of weeks, Dex and I have been attached at the hip, and it’s led me to some realizations.
Dex is funny, cute, and strong. The kind of strong man that doesn’t feel threatening, but protective—like he’d never even consider using his size against me to intimidate or harm me.
And the way he laughs when I tease him? It’s like he knows my jokes come from a kind, gentle place.
He doesn’t get defensive or turn my humor into a weapon against me. He just laughs, his green-hazel eyes crinkling, making me feel like I’m safe here.
That’s a hard feeling to trust. I’ve been trained by Timmy and his kind to brace for the other shoe to drop. For the sweet words to turn into venom, the kindness to reveal its hidden barbs. Part of me still waits for Dex to tell me that everything he admires about me is actually what he hates about me.
But that’s just my trauma whispering in my ear. Of course, I’ll stay vigilant, because I have to—I’ve learned too many painful lessons to ignore red flags.
But with Dex, it’s different. The connection doesn’t feel contrived or manufactured. It’s rich, layered, and organic.
They say butterflies are your body’s warning signal. With Timmy, I was radioactive—buzzing with anxiety and dopamine, swept up in a love-bombing haze that made me think he was my missing piece.
With Dex, there are no alarm bells. Just small, warm flutters of excitement. My brain is calm, my heart steady.
He has friends—plenty of them. Even some exes who he hangs out with as part of his broader friend group.
But unlike Timmy, he doesn’t dangle them in front of me to make me jealous. Instead, he introduces me to them, brings me into his world, and I find that they’re kind and welcoming, just like him.
And he doesn’t propose within two weeks. He’s not even sure if he wants to get married at all, which is fine by me. There’s no rush, no pressure.
He has a job—an actual job—and he shows up for it, running his team with the kind of focus and passion that makes me admire him even more. I still don’t know exactly what he does—all I know is he has a high-level security clearance and he can’t talk a lot about his job—but that’s okay.