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Mistaken Night With my Ex-Husband

Mistaken Night With my Ex-Husband

Romance
last updateHuling Na-update : 2026-03-28
By:  Ranya ValeOngoing
Language: English
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Synopsis

Winning Back the Wife

CEO

Comedy

Steamy

Possessive

Divorce

Lovers Reunion

Pregnant

"I celebrated my divorce with a party. I ended the night in my ex-husband’s bed. Now, I’m carrying a secret he’ll never let me escape." Seraphina Rossi is finally free. After three years of being the "invisible wife" to the cold and powerful Dominic Thorne, the divorce papers are signed. To celebrate, Seraphina throws a "Good Riddance" party, intent on dancing her way into a new life. But Dominic doesn’t like a spectacle. When he crashes the party to drag her home, the argument turns into a night of regrettable, white-hot passion. One "mistaken" night later, Seraphina wakes up to a cold shoulder and a legal document—Dominic wants to make sure their "lapse in judgment" doesn't cost him a dime. Hurt and furious, she signs it and flees to a remote villa to start over. But the morning sickness catches up faster than her flight. Now, Seraphina is pregnant with the Thorne heir, and Dominic has just arrived at her doorstep with a terrifying revelation: The divorce was a mistake. The papers have been "lost." And he’s not leaving until he claims every inch of what belongs to him. "You’re still my wife, Seraphina. And I don’t share what’s mine."

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Walang Komento
56 Kabanata
Chapter 1
The legal document sitting on the bar top was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. It was better than a sunset in Santorini. It was better than a half-off sale at Chanel. It was my Decree Absolute.I was officially no longer Mrs. Dominic Thorne. I was Sera Rossi again. I was a free woman with a heavy bank account and a very light conscience."Sera, stop staring at the paper and start drinking the tequila," my best friend, Jade, yelled over the bass of the club.I picked up the shot glass. The salt burned. The lime stung. The liquid felt like a controlled demolition of my last three years of misery. Being married to Dominic was like being married to a very handsome, very expensive marble statue. He was perfect to look at. He was impossible to talk to. And he was absolutely freezing to the touch."To the ex-husband from hell," I toasted, slamming the glass down. "May he find a nice robot to spend the rest of his life with.""I hear he’s already being scouted by the National Museum,
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Chapter 2
If my brain were a person, it would currently be filing a restraining order against me.Every pulse of blood behind my eyes felt like a tiny, angry construction worker swinging a sledgehammer against my skull. I didn't want to open my eyes. If I kept them closed, I could pretend I was in my new, modest apartment with the slightly creaky floorboards and the neighbors who played jazz at 2:00 AM. I could pretend I hadn't spent the last six hours doing exactly what I told my therapist I would never do again.But the air gave it away. My new apartment smelled like vanilla candles and cheap takeout. This air smelled like mountain air, expensive laundry detergent, and the cold, lingering scent of cedarwood.I was in the penthouse.I groaned, the sound catching in my dry throat, and slowly peeled one eye open. The sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows was a personal insult. It illuminated the massive, 1,000-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets that were currently tangled arou
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Chapter 3
They say it takes twenty-one days to form a habit.For the last three weeks, I had been trying to form the habit of being a "Thriving Divorcee." I had rebranded my art gallery with a sleek new logo that screamed I don't need a billionaire’s backing. I had bought a sofa that was pink—a color Dominic had once called "architecturally offensive." I had even started dating again.Well, if you could call it dating. It was more like a series of interviews where I sat across from men who used words like "synergy" and "crypto-portfolio" while I tried to remember if I had left the oven on.My current date, a fitness influencer named Jax who had more teeth than personality, was currently explaining the benefits of raw liver smoothies."It’s all about the ancestral nutrients, Sera," Jax said, flashing a blindingly white smile. "Gives you that primal edge.""Primal," I repeated, swirling my glass of sparkling water. "Fascinating. I usually just go for a double espresso, but I suppose pulverized or
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Chapter 4
If there was an Academy Award for "Acting Like Your Life Isn't a Dumpster Fire," I would have a golden statue on my mantelpiece right now.I stepped out of the restroom with my chin held high, my spine straight, and the plastic evidence of my impending doom tucked into the hidden pocket of my clutch. My heart was thundering so loudly I was surprised Jade couldn't hear it. I felt like I was carrying a live grenade."Finally," Jade hissed, grabbing my arm. "You look less like a ghost and more like a Victorian waif who’s about to faint. Dominic is pacing the hallway. I think he’s already intimidated three museum donors and a waiter.""He has that effect on people," I muttered. "It’s his only personality trait."We rounded the corner, and there he was. Dominic was leaning against a marble pillar, his arms crossed over his chest. The tuxedo made him look broader, more imposing, and entirely too much like the master of the universe. When he saw me, his eyes narrowed, scanning me from head t
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Chapter 5
Panic is a very effective travel agent.By the time the sun crawled over the New York skyline the next morning, I had already packed two suitcases, drained my savings account into a mobile-friendly currency, and booked a one-way ticket to a village in Tuscany so remote it didn't even show up on Google Street View.I told Jade I was going on an "artistic retreat." I told my gallery assistant I was "sourcing inspiration from the Italian soil." What I didn't tell them was that I was running away from a crumpled CVS receipt and the look on Dominic Thorne’s face when he tucked it into his pocket.The flight was a nightmare of recycled air and the smell of airplane omelets, which, as it turns out, is the ultimate biological weapon against a woman in her first trimester. I spent most of the eleven-hour journey locked in the tiny lavatory, whispering to my stomach that we were almost at the finish line.We just need to get to the villa, Sera, I told myself, splashing cold water on my face. He
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Chapter 6
I woke up to the sound of something heavy hitting the floor—a dull, thudding sound that vibrated through the ancient terracotta tiles and settled right in my teeth.My eyes snapped open, and for a disorienting second, I forgot I was in a centuries-old Italian villa. I forgot that my "technical" husband had effectively hijacked my life at the border. Then the scent hit me—cedarwood, expensive espresso, and that crisp, metallic note of a winter storm. It was the scent of Dominic Thorne, a smell that usually preceded a corporate takeover or a very expensive argument.Dominic was standing at the foot of the bed, looking like he’d been awake for hours. He was already dressed in a charcoal cashmere sweater that cost more than my first car, his posture as rigid as a skyscraper. He wasn't looking at me; he was watching two men in dark suits who were currently hauling my suitcases out of the room as if they were bags of radioactive waste."What are you doing?" I sat up abruptly, the movement s
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Chapter 7
My stomach didn't just growl; it staged a full-scale military coup at exactly three-fifteen in the morning. I lay in the center of the massive, silk-draped bed, staring up at the shadows dancing on the beamed ceiling. I tried to ignore it. I tried to tell my brain that the "nutrient-dense" grass juice Dominic had forced down my throat at breakfast should have been enough to sustain a small village. But my body wasn't listening to logic. It wanted something very specific, very urgent, and very, very wrong. I wanted a jar of spicy, garlic-heavy pickles and a pint of the most expensive, artisanal pistachio gelato Italy had to offer. At the same time. On the same spoon. "Go back to sleep, Seraphina," I whispered to the empty room. "You are an artist. You are a sophisticated woman. You do not want vinegar-soaked cucumbers and frozen nuts in the middle of the night." My stomach let out a sound like a dying whale. Fine. The baby—the little Thorne heir currently taking up residence in my
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Chapter 8
If the previous night had been a glimpse of a truce, the morning was a declaration of total war.I was sitting in the solarium, the morning sun streaming through the arched glass windows of the villa, when the "Consultant" arrived. I had been attempting to enjoy a piece of dry toast—the only thing my stomach would tolerate after the pistachio-pickle debacle—when the sound of clicking heels echoed against the marble. It was a sharp, rhythmic sound, like a countdown to an explosion.Dominic wasn't there. He was in the study, likely buying a small country or ruining someone’s life via a conference call. Instead, I was met by a woman who looked like she had been carved out of a block of ice and dressed in Chanel."Seraphina Thorne?" the woman asked. Her voice was like a violin string pulled too tight. She didn't offer a hand. She didn't even smile. She just peered over the rim of her designer spectacles, her gaze landing on my messy bun and the silk robe I had refused to change out of."I
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Chapter 9
The storm arrived at sunset, rolling over the Tuscan hills in bruised shades of purple and charcoal. It was the kind of weather that made the old villa feel less like a sanctuary and more like a mausoleum. Lightning flickered in the distance, illuminating the rows of grapevines that Dominic now claimed as his own.I was pacing the length of his study, my bare feet silent on the Persian rug. Dominic was downstairs in the wine cellar, hosting a virtual emergency board meeting with the New York office. He thought I was in the library, obediently reading one of the "maternal health" books he’d stacked there.He was wrong.I hadn't been able to shake the feeling that something was off. Dominic Thorne was many things—a tyrant, a billionaire, a possessive jerk—but he was rarely a man who relied on "clerical errors." The story about the "lost" and "voided" divorce papers had felt too convenient, even for him.His leather briefcase sat on the corner of the mahogany desk, looking like a dark, s
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Chapter 10
The atmosphere in the villa that morning was clinical, quiet, and thick with a tension that felt like a piano wire stretched to the breaking point.Dominic had been pacing the hallway outside the master suite for an hour before the doctor arrived. He hadn't spoken to me since he burned my freedom in the fireplace the night before. He didn't need to. His presence was a physical weight, a dark shadow that loomed over every corner of the room as a local Italian physician—a man Dominic had likely vetted down to his primary school grades—set up a portable ultrasound machine.I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers twisting in the soft cashmere of the robe I’d finally conceded to wearing. I felt small. I felt exposed. But mostly, I felt terrified that the flickering screen would make this whole nightmare too real to wake up from."Signora, if you would," the doctor said, his voice a gentle contrast to the cold, corporate efficiency of the room. He gestured to the bed.I lay back, the silk
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