NOTE FROM RIOTTORI: WARNING: NOT FOR THE FAINT-HEARTED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

My computer pings at me, signalling a message and I run to it, rabid for news. It's from her. My wife. My Ana. After five days of going underground, she has re-surfaced.

From: Anastasia Steele

Subject: Meeting

To: Christian Grey

Christian,

We need to talk. Meet me at Escala at 8.

I type back with shaking hands. It's been a long time since she has inspired this level of emotion in me. I'm like the teenager I never was, never had the chance to be. Love-sick and scared.

It's on the second read of the message that I notice the name-change. The red-hot sparks of anger catch and bloom like matches. My smart-ass wife is back, I think. I've really missed her.

I can't concentrate on anything all day. I watch the clock, the hands seeming to taunt me with their slow rotation. I silently will time to speed up, for evening to come so I can see her. She is all I can think about, has been for days. I just need her to come back to me, be mine again. All mine.

I turn the key in the elevator and ride up to the Penthouse, my anxiety heightening the higher I go. I don't think I've ever been this excited, this high, this alive. I step into our apartment and into the unknown.

I hear her call my name the minute the elevator door whooshes closed. I rush to her, following the direction of her voice. It guides me to The Room. The door is open. I enter.

She is standing by the bed, fully clothed, fingering our favourite tie. I stop where I am, wait for her to tell me what to do. A frisson of excitement pulses in the room, emanating from me. She must be able to sense it; she must be affected by it.

"Christian," she says. My name on her lips sounds like home.

I swallow sharply, attempting to stem the swelling tide of feeling. "Ana, you're back. Why do you always leave me for five days?"

"Oh, Christian." Her tone is mocking. Playful Ana comes to life in front of me. "I'm not back. I'm far from back." Her words spill slowly from her mouth like snakes.

She steps towards me, her pupils so dilated in the half-light that her eyes seem midnight black.

"I want an explanation. I want to know why. And you are going to tell me." I feel myself lose my footing, I'm reeling out of control.

"What's the tie for?" I whisper.

"You. Sit. Now."

She ties my hands together behind me, expertly. I could wriggle free if I wanted, but I don't. She holds my gaze all the while, feeling her way blind until I am attached to the bed-post.

She tugs hard, admiring her work.

"How does it feel, Christian?" she asks.

"Good. Tight." My reply is gruff.

"This is the way it's going to work," she says, heading to my box of tricks. "I am going to ask you some questions." She opens the door and reaches in, each movement graceful and precise. I can't take my eyes off her. "If I believe you are lying in your responses or holding something back, I will punish you." Her hand comes out of the wardrobe, clutching a long cane. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," I say. At this point I will do anything she asks.

"Good." In two strides she is in front of me and I see the hurt etched on her beautiful face and that is my real punishment.

"Ana, I'm..."

"Silence." She bites off my apology. "How many were there? How many Subs after me?"

"Ten." My reply has a physical effect on her, I see her sway on her feet.

"Did you bring them home?" she demands, rolling the cane around her pure white palm.

"No. Just to the Escala."

"Did you ever see them outside The Room?"

"No."

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" She pours her hatred over me, her anger, her hurt. I raise my face up to her to be covered in it. It's all I deserve.

"Yes. With one." Her intake of breath is audible.

"Do you love her?" I can see her physically bracing herself for my answer.

"God, Ana! No! You're the only one I will EVER love." Emotion explodes around us. What the fuck have I done?

"Why?"

I blink. What is she asking me?

"Why what?" I lower my head, expecting a hard hit for my insolence. I wait. It doesn't come.

"Why did you need them? Why wasn't I enough?" She's crying now, her questions coming out in choking sobs.

"You were, Ana. Please, baby." I look up at her, disgusted with what I've done, this Ana I've created.

"I tried to give you everything you wanted. I tried to be everything to you. You were MY everything. Why wasn't I enough?"

I shake my head. No answer will ever be good enough.

"I want honesty, Christian. I deserve that. Please."

"I didn't think I needed The Room anymore."

"But you did." Her voice is soft as a whisper. I can barely hear her.

I hang my head but she throws the cane down and grabs it in her hands and pulls it up so we're eye-to-eye, pain pouring through the narrow gap between us.

"Yes. But I promise you, I resisted for years. Years." I can't hide the anguish in my voice. "I couldn't...I couldn't take you in there anymore."

"Why?" Her breath flutters over my eyelids.

"I don't know. It didn't feel right."

She lets a laugh escape from her – it's hollow, flecked with ice.

"Because I was the mother of your children."

I nod, taking her hands with me in the movement.

"Ana, I'm so sorry."

She presses her forehead to mine so we're almost one.

"Me too," she soothes. "Me too. I'm sorry you broke us and I'm sorry that we can't be fixed."