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She Gets the Ring. I Got the Night.
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2025-07-20 20:55:37Sometimes, love doesn’t end with an explosion. Sometimes, it just… dies.
Quietly. Slowly. Without anyone noticing. And by the time you do, you’re already too far gone to turn back.
His scent still lingered on the sheets of that expensive hotel bed. Rain clung to the glass windows, and city lights spilled over his bare chest. His breath, warm against the back of my neck.
He didn’t say much.
Zane Romano never had to.
His words were rare, heavy. That kind of low, gruff voice that reminded you of an old engine that couldn’t be tamed. Even in silence, my body knew exactly what he wanted. His touch always knew where my lines were... and how to cross them.
“Turn around,” he said that night.
And I did.
Because I was stupid. Because I loved him.
His hand brushed my cheek. Those eyes.
That deep, dark blue like they held secrets I’d never be ready to hear.
He looked at me like I was his. Not a secret he kept hidden from the world.
“If I weren’t Zane Romano,” he whispered, “would you still be here?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t know how.
He kissed me. Soft. Deep. And then he fell asleep first, like he always did. So calm. So untouchable.
I woke before sunrise. His scent still clung to my skin. My lips were still swollen from his kiss.
But my fingers trembled as I picked up my phone.
One message. From my best friend, Winona. A link. A photo. One line: “He’s engaged, D.”
My heart didn’t beat in that moment. Or maybe it beat too loud for me to hear anything else.
There he was in the photo. Zane. Wearing a tux. Standing beside a woman who looked like she belonged in a magazine. Poised, elegant, smiling like she owned the world.
And as I looked closer, it hit me. This wasn’t a rumor. Wasn’t gossip.
The date on the article said yesterday morning..
Yesterday.
He slept with me the night after his engagement.
I turned slowly, still in disbelief. Zane lay asleep on the bed, one arm stretched across the spot I’d just left. His breathing was steady. His shoulder bare, glinting under the dim light.
His face looked peaceful. Too peaceful for a man who had just shattered someone’s heart.
My eyes burned, but no tears came.
I bent down. Picked up my dress from the marble floor. Found my heels, which suddenly felt heavier.
I was reaching for my clutch when Zane’s phone lit up on the nightstand.
One soft chime. My eyes flicked to the screen.
AMELLIA MY LOVE 💍
“Love, I threw up again this morning. This baby’s killing me 😩 I can’t wait to tell the board after dinner tonight. Don’t forget to call Papa before that, okay? He wants to confirm the press release. I love you.”
My throat tightened.
One word echoed in my head.
Baby.
This baby’s killing me.
The world tilted. Or maybe it was just me who could no longer stand upright.
My stomach hollowed. My hand clenched around my black clutch until the zipper creaked beneath my grip.
I wanted to wake him. Slap him. Ask one thing: Was I just a mistake you enjoyed before your real life began?
But I already knew the answer.
I was the woman he let fall...with no intention of ever catching.
My feet moved toward the door. Every step felt like pressing into a fresh wound.
I looked back once. One last time. At his silhouette.
And there, standing in the doorway, I finally let the tears fall.
Because sometimes, love doesn’t die all at once. Sometimes, it’s buried alive in the wrong bed.
And me? I buried my heart beside a man named Zane Romano.
Latest chapter
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Later, Babe
The wooden gate bearing Zane’s name came into view again, this time from the opposite direction. Winona’s Vespa slowed, its snarl dropping to a murmur before going fully quiet near the small resort lobby.The heat struck first. The paving stones held the sun like a grudge. A faint breath of sea air surfaced, held back by the expensive diffuser scent from the lobby, blindingly white.I got off the Vespa, my knee lodging a mild complaint. My hand still pressed Winona’s phone inside my jacket pocket. It didn’t weigh much. My brain made up the difference.“I’m heading back to my villa.” Winona took off her helmet, her hair a mess in a way that deserved a haircare sponsorship. “I want to ask the staff about a car rental, if you need to bolt in the middle of the night, I’m ready.”I pulled out her phone before she could ask for it. The screen was still open on that chat. The tiny lipstick emoji stared back at me with a crooked smile.I leaned in, lifted my phone. A few shots. The chat. The
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Where He Hated
Our plates were nothing but bone evidence. Duck skin that had once felt like armor lay scattered as crisp crumbs across the wooden table. The matah sambal had bled into a bruise of green-purple on the surface, a fingerprint that refused to fade. My orange ice had surrendered into cold water, two lonely cubes melting with slow resignation.Winona wiped her mouth with a tissue, then studied the rice fields behind me as if deciding whether this could pass for a getaway spot after committing financial fraud.I reached for my water, took a swallow, felt the sambal lingering along the edges of my tongue. Outside the shack, wind combed through young rice, insects kept up their endless chatter. When my life wasn’t on fire, I could almost believe the world truly worked this way: eat. fill up. go home.Winona slid her plate aside. The tip of her nail tapped the table once. Not loud. Just enough to change the tempo.“Erick.”His name hit the surface between us like a dropped spoon.I didn’t lift
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
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