All Chapters of His Ex Mistress, His Enemy: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

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

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

We stood side by side near the punch table, wedged between a life-sized statue of Saint Joseph and a giant jar of mini churros coated in way too much sugar.Dante leaned in slightly, still wearing a smile that felt a little too warm for a night this hot."When was the last time we talked like this? Five years ago?""Six," I said, grabbing a churro. "You’d just gotten your scholarship to Johns Hopkins and told me to try yoga because my 'aura seemed tense.’”He laughed. "God, I was insufferable, wasn’t I?"I nodded. "But your heart was in the right place. Plus, those abs could make a woman forgive a lot of things."Dante squinted playfully, trying not to laugh. "And now look at you… Dianna Rosa de Valdez, a living legend in the legal world. I heard your name mentioned on some business podcast by a CEO who thinks NFTs and gratitude journals will save humanity."I let out a long sigh. "Yeah. The world’s gone mad. I’m just spinning with it, trying not to throw up."He raised his glass. "To

I don’t remember exactly when I fell asleep.All I know is, last night my head was full of Zane Romano’s lips and the way his breath burned across my skin like straight tequila. My brain kept replaying that kiss over and over, like a bad pop song you hate but can’t stop humming.I tried everything: alpha wave music, slow-breathing meditation, even a YouTube video of a garbage truck moving through snow in rural Norway.None of it worked.In the end, I gave in to the only thing that’s ever worked since I was a teenager : Mama’s infamous sleep potion.That stuff is suspicious as hell. Some blend of forest herbs, dark wild honey, and what I’m pretty sure are the tears of a South American jaguar. It tastes like witch soup, but knocks you out like a brick-scented pillow to the face.So when I finally passed out, I prayed I’d wake up peacefully.Of course, I forgot I have a three-year-old.“MAMIIII—LOOK AT MEEE!”BOOM.Something launched itself onto my stomach.I winced, eyes still closed, t

The small courtroom was silent when I walked in. The harsh overhead fluorescents lit a long, scarred wooden table that looked like it had survived a hundred legal battles.I took my seat on the right and lined up the weapons I’d be using today: A final evidence binder with color-coded tabs for every category. A revised draft of the trust fund agreement that still needed the judge’s input. A witness list with margin notes for cross-examination. A summary of agreements from earlier negotiations.Amelia’s statement, stripped of every line that made her sound like she was auditioning for a soap opera.And, just in case, a rebuttal brief ready to fire if the other side tried to push for an early trial date.I was flipping through an exhibit when the door opened. The sharp click of high heels echoed across the marble floor, confident and precise.Vivienne Duclair swept in like a cold wind that knew exactly where it was going. Her black blazer was tailored within an inch of perfection, her b