All Chapters of His Ex Mistress, His Enemy: Chapter 191 - Chapter 200

Steam clung to the glass when I stepped out first, my soles slipping on the cold stone floor. The robe hung off one shoulder, my hair dripping down my back, and the whole villa felt too quiet for a place that had just turned into a minor battlefield.Behind me, the shower door slid open.Zane walked out without haste, water sliding from his hair, his skin gleaming like someone had polished him instead of rinsed him. Only a pair of black boxers on him, and that look...God, that look always made him seem fresh off a victory.I turned, towels clutched to my chest. “Don’t smile like that.”His brow lifted, lazy. “What’s wrong with it?”“It makes me want to kick you again.”His gaze dropped to my feet, then traveled up like he was calculating odds. “Go ahead. I enjoy your violent hobbies.”I stepped in and tapped his shin with my toes. Not hard, but enough to tell him I still had principles, even if those principles were hanging by a thread like some cheap bra strap.He snorted once, shoul

ZANE POVI leaned against the headboard, half upright, half useless, while the world outside the window was nothing but night and scraps of city lights drifting slow beneath the wing.Dianna stayed tucked into my side, one thigh angled across my waist, her face buried in my chest like I was some overpriced hotel pillow. Her hand slipped under my shirt, her palm warm against my ribs, as if letting go would send the plane straight into the ocean.The jet hummed in a steady low drone. The crew dimmed the suite lights. For the first time all day, no one wanted a signature, a status update, or someone’s metaphorical head chopped off.Just this woman. This dangerous creature who sensed trouble faster than any of my security advisors.“I still hate long flights,” she muttered a few minutes earlier, right before her breathing eased. “If this plane goes down, I’m haunting you in the afterlife and checking every woman whose thighs you ever stared at.”Then she dropped asleep mid-threat. Classic

If God wanted to punish me, He picked a creative method. Case in point: hurling me into the sky, above the clouds, after vomiting half my soul out, then placing the best lasagna I’d ever tasted right under my nose.The Bali–Milan trip took around fifteen hours. We’d already passed the halfway mark; the tiny galley window showed nothing but darkness and a scatter of distant lights from a city I couldn’t name. The engines thrummed in a steady drone that sank into my bones.I perched on the galley’s bar stool, one leg tucked onto the seat, knee propped under my chin. My body still felt drained, but my stomach… had other plans. I thought the porridge earlier would be enough. It wasn’t. The warm lasagna on this white plate sent up steam that drifted straight into my face like an indecent invitation.“I hate you,” I muttered at the barely-melting cheese. The fork cut right through it anyway.The first bite landed on my tongue, tomato, meat, cheese, pasta. My stomach, traitor that it was, ap

The road to the mansion shut me up, and not because I’d suddenly discovered etiquette. My brain just needed a moment to process the scale of the place.The black gate with the Romano crest rose ahead of us, a quiet warning to regular people: turn back if your life is still humble. The iron wasn’t flashy. The carved lines were thin and neat, almost like a signature on an expensive contract. When it swung open, our SUV slipped down a long driveway lined with towering pines standing in formation.I’d grown up in a Colombian family home big enough to swallow a wedding party and still have room left for extra drama. But this… this felt like someone took the idea of a “yard” and expanded it until it turned into a small country.“If you keep staring, your jaw’s gonna cramp.” Zane’s voice grazed my ear, unbothered and warm, like we’d just come back from a grocery run.I turned and met that face—sharp jaw, hair tidy but not too tidy, those dark eyes that always looked like they knew something

The Romano bathroom marble looked too white for the disaster playing out on top of it.I knelt over the toilet, fingers trembling against the rim, cold sweat racing down my spine even though the faucet still ran icy. My stomach twisted again. Nothing came up this time except acid and whatever dignity I had left.“Oh my god, Di…” Krystal’s voice drifted from behind me, rough around the edges. “You haven’t even eaten anything.”I lifted one hand—universal signal: don’t come closer unless you want to be collateral damage. My hair fell forward. She finally got it. Her fingers swept in, gathered the mess of it, and pulled it back. Damp strands clung to her arm.Tears slipped out without my permission.The image in my head refused to budge.Erick. Metal chair. Zip-ties. Gray tape over his mouth. An ugly white lamp hanging low, draining the color from his skin. A red ribbon at his wrist, tight, like a sick joke about all the red motifs that had turned me into a punching bag these past few we