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Shrank
Last Updated:
2025-07-31 23:25:03
Latest chapter
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy His First Move
The sky over New York looked like the bottom of a coffee pot. Dark, murky, and far too heavy to be considered beautiful.My office smelled like printer ink and Sofia’s perfume, which was always too sweet for early mornings. I had just sat down and powered on my computer when I heard the hurried click of heels down the hallway.Stilettos on marble. The sound of one thing, guaranteed:Drama.And I was right.My office door burst open before I could even say “Come in.”Amelia Mercier Romano stood at the threshold. Pale pastel dress hitting just above the knee, long wavy hair in a perfect mess, and her face… oh, her face looked like she’d just been left at the altar by both love and her waterproof eyeliner.“He wants to go to trial!” she shouted.I didn’t have time to react before she shut the door behind her and stormed toward my desk, her heels clinking like the start of a war.“Zane. He. Wants. A. Trial. Next. Week,” she said, every word a little arrow she shot straight through her own
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Romano on Record
Monday mornings have a very specific scent. Stale coffee from the office pantry, expensive perfume trying to mask exhaustion, and a fine mist of professional tension drifting through the halls like fog.I had just shrugged off my coat and mumbled something vaguely human to Sofia when a bright red notification lit up my screen:HAWTHORNE – 8:45 | PLEASE COME TO MY OFFICE IMMEDIATELY.Perfect.It was 8:22. I hadn’t even touched my coffee. And now... a summons from the highest throne in the firm.“It’s Monday. This is not a threat,” I muttered to myself as I powered on my computer, then stood back up and smoothed down my hair like someone who definitely didn’t want to burn the world down.Five minutes later, I was standing in front of a frosted glass door that read: EDWARD HAWTHORNE, Esq. | Senior Managing Partner.I knocked once. Crisp and short.“Come in,” came the voice from inside.Deep. Calm. Commanding. Like everything else about the man who had wrapped up his first antitrust victor
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Calm before Strom
The morning air in Central Park was like a mint candy. Cool, sharp, and just refreshing enough to make me forget that my heels were slightly sinking into the damp earth.Ash had been in Erick’s carrier for the past five minutes, flopped sideways like a smoothie-drunk koala. And even though he was three and a half, and now weighed about as much as a carry-on stuffed with solid gold, Erick kept walking like his spine was made of titanium and his dad badge came with superpowers."If you want a longer ride, you’ll have to pay up," Erick muttered to Ash, adjusting the carrier strap.Ash, in his dino-print bucket hat and oversized toy sunglasses, responded with a lazy grunt. "I don’t have money. But I have candy.""Hmm. Accepted."I walked beside them, shamelessly munching on a bagel, oversized sunglasses in place and a tiny crossbody bag packed with tissues, backup keys, and organic snacks. Motherhood wasn't just about love. It was logistics."This isn’t a regular baby carrier, is it?" I as
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Chocolate Smudges and Dinosaur Songs
I closed the door softly, dropped my bag onto the credenza near the stairs, and kicked off my heels one at a time, mumbling to myself about how human feet were never designed for pretty shoes.The living room lights were dimmed, the curtains half-drawn.And there he was. Ash.Fast asleep on the wide sofa, one tiny hand gripping his stuffed bunny, his legs curled under a light blue blanket I didn’t even remember owning. His dark curls covered half his forehead, and his cheeks were a soft shade of pink.The world could be on fire and that child would still be out cold, as if nothing around him could ever matter enough to disturb his sleep.I smiled. Instinctively. And just before I could take a step toward him, a sound from the kitchen made me turn.Erick appeared from behind the kitchen island, still wearing the mustard-colored apron he hated, his hair slightly messy and his face... defeated."He was a whirlwind this afternoon," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Jumped from ro
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Please. Please. Please
Then Zane turned around. And this time, there was no smirk. No sarcasm.I turned away, facing the desk. Opened the folder in front of me. The sound of shuffling paper was the only thing keeping my shaky hands in check.“This meeting is over,” I said quietly. “Get out before I change my mind and put up a sign that says NO ROMANOS ALLOWED on the damn front door.”Zane didn’t move.Didn’t even flinch.He stood by the window, shoulders square, eyes no longer angry, but determined. The kind of determination that comes from a man who’s never had to lose… until someone forced him to learn how.I stayed behind the desk. The distance between us was wide, but the tension hanging in the air could’ve cut glass.“Zane. Get the fuck out of my office. Now.”He took a step, closer to me. And just like always, dangerous. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”“I told you. This meeting is over.”He took a step. Then another. I could hear the soft creak of his expensive shoes on the wood floor. Too loud
His Ex Mistress, His Enemy Burning
New York never sleeps.Even when the morning air still clings to the last traces of dew, this city is already plotting how to wear you down before lunch.And me? I’d been behind my desk since 7:15. Hair pulled into a tight ponytail, cold espresso in hand, and my laptop screen glowing with a hundred legal clauses that read more like incantations than text. Spells to keep me sane.Three open cases. Two clients fighting over pug custody like it was a royal inheritance. One looming class-action threat from minority shareholders. And, of course, Amelia Romano, texting me at five in the damn morning to ask if we could fast-track the asset freeze clause before her family dinner.I wanted to reply: “Eat first. Maybe you’ll think more clearly when you’re not hangry.”But I didn’t. Because, unfortunately, professionalism doesn’t pay the bills.My fingers flew across the keyboard, eyes narrowing as I combed through the Romano Imperium stock restructure draft. Every number, every phrase, every sem
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