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Dark Outside
Last Updated:
2025-12-13 20:52:36
Latest chapter
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy A Low-Res Déjà Vu
Winona’s Vespa let out a small growl as we rolled out of the resort area, the front tire slipping past a wooden gate stamped with Zane’s name in a font far too elegant for any mortal.The wind slapped my face right away. Warm, damp, touched with the scent of the ocean, quickly replaced by earth and exhaust. I’d swapped Zane’s hoodie for a simple tee and jeans, but I was still wearing his sunglasses. Too big for me. Half my face hidden, and honestly, I liked it.“Hold on, señora!” Winona yelled from the front, her hair whipping beneath the helmet. “If you fall off, I can’t explain to Zane that I killed his girlfriend.”My arms were already snug around her waist. “If I fall off, he won’t shoot you. He’ll torture you slowly with legal contracts.”“Contracts are worse,” Winona agreed. She twisted the throttle, and the Vespa zipped down a narrow road lined with villas, small cafés, handwritten signs advertising “smoothie bowls” and “tattoos.”We rounded a bend, and the little town graduall
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Vacation Mode
Ten in the morning in Bali feels like six in the evening in my brain.I’m sinking into the villa’s living-room sofa, drowned in Zane’s oversized hoodie. The sleeves swallow my hands all the way to the fingers, and every time I move, the fabric slides with me, soft and slick, smelling far too much like Zane to qualify as neutral clothing.Up front, the glass door is half open. The blue ocean sits quiet beneath the cliff, the sun climbing slow, the breeze slipping in with salt and the faint scent of sambal drifting from the kitchen.I’m doing nothing. Phone in hand, a warm box of siomay on the table. My newest life discovery: steamed fish balls and tofu with thick peanut sauce, sambal, and a squeeze of tiny lime. The perfect child between an arepa and an empanada in some alternate form.I stab a piece with a plastic fork, drag it through the sauce, squeeze lime over it, and pop it into my mouth. Soft, rich, savory, spicy, tangy. My brain waves a white flag.“Fine,” I mumble to the box.
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Pause
I woke to the sound of the sea.Not an alarm, not a notification, not Ash screaming “MAMIII, PEPPEEERRR…,” just the waves rising and falling beneath the cliff, slow and rhythmic. Like someone knocking on the edge of the world with handfuls of foam.My eyes cracked open. Wooden ceiling. Sheer white curtains drifting lazily. A slice of blue sky and a line of ocean far too beautiful for a Wednesday morning.And a heavy arm wrapped around my waist.Warm breath grazed my nape. A faint beard brushed the skin behind my ear. A solid chest pressed to my back. Thigh muscles fitted along mine. A whole limited-edition heating system holding me hostage on the bed.Usually, this is when my brain would boot up: counting hours, recalling schedules, scrolling news-ticker thoughts across my skull. Breakfast time, whose email, which client, what threat. Now… nothing.Not peaceful nothing. More like my brain pulled a blanket over itself and muttered, “go back to sleep, idiot.”I stayed curled toward the
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Dark Outside
ZANE POVThe villa breathed in a way that made the outside world feel invented. The pool beyond the living room caught the low lights and turned them into a sheet of black glass. The ocean mumbled somewhere far off, nearly swallowed by crickets and whatever creature felt like screaming from the trees. Maybe a monkey. Maybe the ghost of a crypto bro who went all-in at the wrong hour.I sat on the long sofa in a gray tee and shorts, laptop open on the low table, phone pressed to my ear. My fingers tapped the armrest, same pattern as before: one, two, pause.Another part of my brain counted seconds.“Repeat.”On the other end, Diego. Always steady, like he was giving a morning briefing, not reporting on strangers who enjoyed hovering too close to my life.“We reconfirmed it with CCTV from the Upper East restaurant,” he said. “Same woman, same red coat. Two weeks ago she was across the street from Hawthorne & Co. Stood there about thirty-five minutes. Didn’t do anything except watch the e
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Hazel Eyes at Golden Hour
Zane PovThe beach pulled a double shift that evening. The sky split into three colors: orange, a thin wash of violet, and blue retreating in slow steps. The sun drifted toward the rim of the water, a round gold-red coin whose glow turned the sea into something poured from a copper pitcher.My café perched on the sand, half wooden deck, half low lounge pressed right against the beach. Strings of small bulbs hung between bamboo poles. The speakers spilled something soft, EDM, jazz, something with enough pulse to let rich people sway their shoulders while pretending they were talking stocks.Our table sat in the best spot. Corner of the deck, an L-shaped couch facing the ocean and angled toward the bar. Close enough to watch the crowd, far enough not to get clipped by an influencer and their tripod.Dianna leaned at the end of the couch, the low backrest barely catching her spine. That white dress shaped itself around her without much effort. Her bare feet sank into the sand under the t
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Willingly
Zane POVThe villa bedroom stretched wider than my first New York apartment ever managed.A king bed ruled the center, high headboard, white sheets, the glass doors to the ocean half open so a slow breeze toyed with the sheer curtains. To the left sat a sliding door that opened into a walk-in closet and a bathroom. Somewhere in there, Dianna waged war on her own face.I leaned against the headboard with my laptop on my thighs. Bare legs in the AC’s chill, black tee, boxers. One leg stretched, the other angled. My inbox overflowed with people convinced their decisions mattered more than they did.“If we don’t go now, the sun’s clocking out,” I called without looking up. “Romance turns into garden-light ambience.”“You have the rest of your life to stare at the sea, Romano. You have three days to see me in this dress.” Her voice floated from the closet, dry enough to crack.Fair.The cursor blinked at the end of an email from a CFO who believed numbers multiplied into solutions if he st
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