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A Perfect Copy
Last Updated:
2025-08-29 21:17:44
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His Ex Mistress, His Enemy The Seventh Circle of Sea-Hell
EIGHT YEARS AGOI opened my eyes slowly, and the world still looked like an impressionist painting shaken by a hyperactive toddler. Afternoon light poured through the round window, spilling honey-colored warmth across the room, but not nearly enough to make me rise without wanting to vomit out half my soul.My head was heavy, though at least I no longer felt like hurling my organs overboard.Sheena burst in like a tiny, overconfident storm, wearing a blinding satin robe and sunglasses as if she were the guest star in a 2000s music video. “You alive?” she asked lightly, as if I hadn’t just gone through my own private maritime tragedy.“I think so. Although my kidneys are still undecided.”She sighed dramatically, then grabbed my arm. “Come on. Lunch. I’m bored eating alone. Winona is still busy gossiping with some guest who used to date an actress in Hollywood.”“I just recently regained consciousness. Can we wait… three decades?”“You need rice or bread or whatever will get your blood
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Two Days to Die Pretty
EIGHT YEARS AGOOf course the harbor wasn’t just any harbor. This was Capri. The place where the rich dock their sins and egos, then wrap it up with a bow and call it “vacation.” The yacht in front of us stretched as long as a politician’s ego and gleamed as white as malice dressed in silk.I trailed a few steps behind Sheena and Winona, who were already snapping a storm of selfies with the boat as their backdrop. Their summer dresses fluttered, their laughter pitched high, and the constant click of phone cameras felt like their personal soundtrack.I dragged my carry-on in silence.A butler in linen and sunglasses led us up the gangway with a thin, expensive-looking smile. A handful of other guests followed close behind, each one resembling the offspring of some fitness deity on holiday. Bronze bodies, gauzy linen shirts, sunglasses that probably cost more than my yearly rent.“This isn’t a boat. It’s a seven-star hotel that just happens to float,” I muttered, side-eyeing the marble
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy A Toilet Epiphany
EIGHT YEARS AGONight slipped softly over Capri, wrapping the villa in something that felt like the sea’s own breath. The wind carried the faint bite of rosemary from the garden, and from the dining room came the clink of glasses, too polished to belong to what should have been just dinner. The long oak table was set with candles and white porcelain plates.Winona sat beside me, biting into a roasted almond like she was plotting a crime. I chewed slowly, then without changing expression, flicked one at her.It landed squarely in her water glass.“Seriously?” she hissed, whipping her head toward me.I grinned. “Your throw this afternoon was pathetic. I’m saving your dignity.”She grabbed another and kicked me under the table. I grunted, jabbed her side with my elbow, then stabbed into my salad with unnecessary aggression.Across the table, Sheena was glued to Nicolas, as usual. Her body angled toward him, chin propped on her hand, expression tragic enough to win an Italian soap opera a
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Collateral Gelato
EIGHT YEARS AGOMy internal clock usually only works for emergencies: exams, major sales, or the sudden urge to escape human interaction.But this morning... I was quiet. No comebacks. No teasing. No telling Zane Romano to find the nearest hole and fall into it.Maybe because he kept talking. About how Capri was once a Roman emperor’s hideaway, about the legend of the Blue Island said to heal broken hearts, about the Faraglioni cliffs rising from the sea like the chest of an overconfident Italian man.Or maybe because he bought me lemon-rosemary gelato without asking. And then a slice of torta caprese, insisting it was “mandatory if you want your life to make sense.”He walked me down Via Camerelle, the shopping street lined with designer stores, but Zane didn’t even glance at the fancy displays. Instead, he pointed to an old leather workshop and went on about the craftsman inside, claiming the man could guess your waist size just by watching you walk.When we finally sat on a big roc
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Charm Served Warm
EIGHT YEARS AGOI dabbed the corner of my mouth with the linen napkin, then folded it neatly beside the plate. Done. Finished. Not a single bite left, and not a single stupid conversation wasted on the man across from me.Zane was still lounging back, rolling up his sleeves with the kind of unhurried precision you only saw in luxury watch commercials. Third button undone. Of course. Why not flaunt his collarbones when the world practically begged for it?I stood, grabbed my clutch, ready to head to the register.“Let me get this,” he said before I could take a step.I turned, one brow arched. “Why?”He rose too, sliding a sleek black metal card from his pocket. It caught the light so harshly it almost stung my eyes.“Consider it compensation for ruining your peaceful morning with my spectacular presence.”I stared at him flatly, then shrugged. “Go ahead. Free breakfast for once.” I flicked my hair over my shoulder. “But don’t expect a thank you.”Zane let out a low laugh. “Of course n
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Quiet Mornings Die Loudly
EIGHT YEARS AGO. Morning in Capri looked like watercolor. The sky was pale blue brushed with thin clouds, and the sun climbed up slowly, as if it knew someone drunk had only just passed out three hours ago. The air carried a trace of sea salt and the faint smell of coffee drifting from somewhere unseen.I stepped out of the villa, alone. Of course. Winona and Sheena were probably still comatose in their beds, tangled up with hangovers and the sins of last night. Sheena had screamed for coconut water at three in the morning, while Winona sang Adele through tears. Both of them could stage a small death this morning and I wouldn’t be surprised.Nicolas? He was gone before sunrise. Something about an important meeting with a business partner. Could be mafia. Could be a skincare CEO with a nuclear bunker. Who knows.I followed a narrow stone path framed by bougainvillea, my leather sandals tapping softly against the warm ground. No plan, no map, just the mission of finding coffee and some
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