The mess in the flat is driving me mad, but I don’t have the energy to do anything about it. By the time I come home from the clinic, all I want is to unwind, play with Nounou and sleep.
Nounou is a tiny Chihuahua and the undisputed owner of my heart.
Then there’s Tom.
Tom and I have been together for a year, although finding time for him has become increasingly difficult since I started working at the clinic. Things were good in the beginning. I had just moved from Edinburgh to London after completing my degree in clinical psychology, and exploring the city with him had made me feel as if I was falling in love.
Tom arranged lovely dates. He made me feel wanted.
Over time, his attention faded and our conversations became toxic. Eventually, I realised I no longer wanted to make time for him. Tom worked punishing hours in finance while I devoted myself to understanding my new patients and proving that I deserved my place at the clinic.
His determination to make money gradually began to eclipse everything else.
I’m beginning to understand that Tom is miserly with his affection. He is so obsessively ambitious that I have two choices: either I start treating him, which I already feel as if I’ve been doing without producing any measurable improvement, or I leave him.
I’m also beginning to suspect that introducing him to my parents was a mistake.
It has simply taken me far too long to realise it.
I knock the revolting coffee in my hand onto the cardboard box containing my books.
“Fuck.”
Trying to do everything at once inevitably results in doing nothing properly. Nounou starts barking, which sends me into an even greater panic. I wipe my hands on the first cloth I can find in the kitchen and give myself one final inspection in the mirror.
My blonde hair looks smooth and glossy. My pencil dress is mercifully forgiving enough to conceal the fact that I haven’t ironed it.
I cannot be late for work.
Reece, the clinic’s director and an experienced clinical psychologist, hired me through an old acquaintance of ours. I feel indebted to him, but there was no possibility of turning down an opportunity like this. Without Reece, working at a prestigious clinic in Mayfair would have remained nothing more than a fantasy.
I drop my nude stilettos into my tote bag so I can change into them at work, plant several kisses on Nounou’s tiny stomach and leave the flat.
Every departure turns into an emotional crisis. As I make my way towards the Tube, I add professional dog training to the mental list of things I urgently need to arrange.
I no longer live particularly far from the clinic. The flat costs me a fortune every month, but being close to work is a luxury I’ve quickly come to appreciate.
When I first arrived in London, I spent three hours a day commuting. Surrounded by hurried strangers and the endless chaos of city life, I would find myself longing for the peace of Scotland. I missed running through vast green fields with my parents’ dogs.
I still miss it.
At least my journey is no longer long enough for me to direct entire music videos inside my head.
When I emerge from the Tube, I check that I still have all my belongings and begin walking towards the clinic. The sky is brilliantly blue. I adore London on sunny days. The cold nips at my skin, but the sight of the sun makes it worthwhile.
The streets seem brighter.
Even the people look friendlier.
The clinic occupies an elegant old townhouse. The interior has been completely renovated and always carries a soft, powdery scent that somehow makes the entire building feel calm. It caters largely to wealthy, upper-class clients who expect both discretion and excellence.
As I approach reception, I see Maya.
She is our assistant and manages almost everything that keeps the clinic functioning. We’ve been attending dance classes together for several months, and she is genuinely one of the most entertaining people I know, even when she becomes far too involved in matters that are none of her business.
Before meeting Maya, the possibility of taking up belly dancing had never entered my mind. Now, I leave every class with a smile on my face.
“Morning, sweetheart. You have a new client.”
She gives me a mischievous grin and hands me a file.
“Good morning, Maya. How are you?”
I glance through the paperwork. There isn’t much information.
“Oh, everything’s wonderful, darling. Reece is in an excellent mood today, so I’m going to take advantage of it and get a coffee. Would you like one?”
It is impossible to refuse whenever Maya announces a coffee run, so I ask for a mocha.
Until now, most of my clients have been referred by other doctors. Ella Hamilton’s file, however, is unusually sparse. She has reported problems with sleep and memory, but there is no professional referral attached to her case.
Her emergency contact is listed as her husband, James Hamilton.
I make a mental note to telephone her before the appointment.
Maya collects her handbag, which has three Labubus dangling from it, and leaves. I head into my office, change into my nude stilettos and begin organising everything I need to complete today.
I have a session with Claire in an hour.
Claire is a lovely woman in her fifties who, in all honesty, no longer needs therapy. There is very little therapeutic benefit left for either of us to extract from our sessions, but I know that coming here makes her happy.
Before working with me, she spent years seeing Reece and has now achieved a level of self-awareness bordering on enlightenment.
I could swear she attends our sessions to help me rather than herself, although I would struggle to prove it. She has given me more useful advice about life than anything I learnt while studying in Edinburgh.
I turn my half-chewed pen between my fingers and reread some of my notes about Claire.
Then I telephone Ella Hamilton.
The phone rings for so long that I’m about to end the call when a quiet voice finally answers.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“Hello, my name is Caitríona Thorne. Am I speaking to Ella?”
I don’t intend to overwhelm her with questions. I simply want enough information to prepare properly for our session.
“Yes. I’m listening.”
Her voice is hesitant, barely louder than a whisper.
“I’m calling to ask for a few details ahead of our appointment this afternoon. Have you had therapy before?”
I realise I’ve started chewing my pen again.
“No. Um... could I answer your questions when I arrive?”
I can’t understand why she sounds so frightened.
“I have to go now. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
Why is she trying to escape the conversation?
“Ella, please wait. Are you currently taking any medication?”
“My husband handles those things. I need to go now. Please. Bye.”
The call ends.
I stare at the phone, unable to make sense of our brief exchange. Fortunately, I’ll be meeting Ella this afternoon. Rather than dwelling on it, I return to the calendar on my computer and continue planning my week.
A few minutes later, Maya enters carrying two enormous Starbucks cups.
Mine is the only office she dares to enter without knocking. She strolls inside and throws her handbag onto one of the comfortable beige velvet chairs reserved for clients.
“Here you are, Doctor. Your mocha.”
She places the oversized cup on my desk and takes a sip from her own. Although she remains standing as if she is in a hurry, I know she intends to stretch this unofficial coffee break for as long as possible.
I thank her and take a sip.
I love Monday mornings like this. They remind me how much I enjoy my job.
“You would not believe it,” Maya begins. “There isn’t a single part of that woman that hasn’t been upgraded. I wouldn’t mind having her breasts, though. I just need a spare twenty thousand pounds. Not that there’s currently anyone in my life to appreciate them.”
Maya’s habit of voicing every thought that enters her head occasionally makes life more difficult, but it usually improves my mood.
“Maya!”
“What? Am I lying? There’s no one.”
We laugh together for a moment before she returns to reception, leaving me alone in my cosy office.
I begin reviewing the notes for a patient referred by Oscar.
Oscar is Reece’s nephew and a monumental prick.
I hate him with every fibre of my being.
Admittedly, discovering that he and Tom were friends may have influenced my opinion of Tom as well. Oscar is so arrogant that every interaction with him makes me want to wash my hands and erase the experience from my memory.
His persistent attempts to flirt with me, despite being friends with my boyfriend, are another source of irritation. Everyone knows he has slept with nearly every intern at the clinic, but nobody feels able to confront him about it.
I never hesitate to tell him precisely what I think.
Unfortunately, Oscar is like Teflon. Nothing sticks to him.
With eight minutes remaining before Claire’s appointment, I leave my office and begin walking towards reception. I want to move around before the session and ask Maya whether there have been any last-minute developments.
Claire always calls when she is going to be late. She is usually late.
Halfway down the corridor, I hear an unfamiliar voice coming from reception.
It is deep, smoky and unmistakably amused.
The sound fills my ears and makes me instinctively smooth my hands over the front of my dress, pressing out creases that do not exist.
At the end of the corridor, a tall, powerfully built man in a suit stands with his back to me.
I find myself moving towards him as if something invisible has taken hold of me.
“I’m sure I can find plenty of ways to occupy myself while I wait,” he says, mischief threaded through every word.
Maya blinks up at him, so obviously affected that she may as well have announced it over the intercom.
“We can’t give you an appointment today without taking some preliminary information. Believe me, I am genuinely sorry.”
As I draw closer, the sound of my heels follows me down the corridor. A clean, masculine aftershave reaches me, layered with the rich scent of cedar.
It has to be coming from him.
His voice is so captivating that I suspect I may be blinking at him just as helplessly as Maya.
“Then I shall have to place myself entirely in your capable hands, Maya. I’m in rather desperate need of an appointment.”
His voice is perfectly polite, but amusement lingers beneath the words.
When I reach reception, Maya is still gazing at him. The man remains facing the desk, his back to me.
“I understand, Mr Ashcroft. I’ll see what I can do. But you must at least complete the form first.”
Perhaps he senses my presence, because Mr Ashcroft turns towards me.
The world stutters.
I immediately understand Maya’s reaction.
His scent surrounds me again, clean and expensive. His dark-blond hair is carefully styled, yet looks effortlessly natural. His blue eyes are deep, bright and quietly amused. His face is freshly shaven, sharply masculine and almost offensively attractive.
For one humiliating moment, my mind simply ceases to function.
I cannot speak.
I stand frozen before him, unable to remember ever experiencing such immediate, overwhelming attraction to another human being.
I stare at the godlike man in front of me as if I’ve fallen into a trance.
His low, smiling voice finally pulls me out of it.
“Well, Doctor. It appears the cure has come to the patient.”
My words still refuse to cooperate.
That does not prevent me from examining him from head to toe.
His suit is a deep navy, paired with a crisp shirt, tie and expensive cufflinks. An understated watch circles his wrist, although it probably costs enough to purchase the entire clinic.
He looks wealthy, powerful and impossibly refined.
His height forces me to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. As our gazes lock, he calmly unfastens the button of his jacket.
His hands are immaculate, but there is nothing delicate about them. They look strong.
I realise I still haven’t answered him and clear my throat.
The amusement in his eyes tells me he knows precisely how thoroughly he has affected me.
Humiliation burns through me.
He does not appear remotely troubled by it.
“Hello. You are...?”
I wait for an answer, mortified by my inability to construct a complete sentence.
“Alexander Ashcroft.”
Alexander. His voice is far too captivating.
Then he extends one perfectly groomed hand towards me.
The moment our skin touches, something electric travels through my entire body. Fireworks erupt inside my head.
How can another human being have this much effect on me?
He lowers his head and presses a slow kiss to the back of my hand, directly over my knuckles.
His eyes never leave mine.
For one suspended moment, it feels as if he has fallen into the same trance.
I can still feel his lips against my skin as I attempt to recover. I cannot tell whether he is deliberately prolonging the contact or whether time itself has slowed around us.
Maya coughs pointedly.
“Is this actually happening, or have we slipped into another universe?”
She mutters it beneath her breath, but Mr Ashcroft hears her.
A quiet laugh leaves him.
Still holding my gaze, he slowly raises his head.
I know I have to say something.
“Mr Ashcroft, how can I help you?”
That wicked amusement returns to his eyes.
“Oh, there are many things you could help me with. But arranging a session for today would be an excellent place to start.”
My dearest readers,
Over the past few weeks, I’ve reread True Affliction again and again, and I kept finding little things that simply didn’t feel right to me. Somewhere along the way, I realised I hadn’t quite managed to tell you the story I had in my heart, so I made the very difficult decision to remove the old chapters and rewrite True Affliction from the beginning.
This new version takes our story in a different direction. It is more intense, more passionate and, I hope, far more addictive. Alexander is much more OTT, Cait is much more fiery, and the push and pull between them is exactly what I always wanted it to be.
I truly hope you fall in love with this version as much as I have. I hope you fall helplessly in love with Alex, adore Cait for every stubborn little thing she does, and feel every heated, maddening, passionate moment between them as deeply as I do while writing it.
And I genuinely cannot wait to read your comments, reactions and theories as the new story unfolds 🖤🔥
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