All Chapters of His Ex Mistress, His Enemy: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

The sky had already shifted to a clear blue when two doctors and a nurse stepped into the room, armed with clipboards, stethoscopes, and those perfectly neutral faces you only get after seeing too many human organs before breakfast.Zane bent down toward Ash before he left. His hand brushed the boy’s hairline for a second. “I’m heading to the office for a bit. Don’t burn the hospital down, alright?”“I’ll only burn one room,” Ash replied, lifting a brow. “The smallest one.”Zane chuckled, then shot me a look on his way out. I didn’t return it. Too early to deal with the charm of a man who didn’t need good lighting to look like someone’s favorite sin.The second the door shut, Ash pushed himself up against the pillows and eyed the doctors with open suspicion.“Why’d you bring two clipboards? I’m just one person,” he said, narrowing his eyes.One of them, a young man with a friendly smile, crouched a little to be level with Ash. “One’s for the transfusion results from last night. The ot

EIGHT YEARS AGOBoston, early summer. The air was already humid, creeping up from the sidewalks and into our cramped little flat that smelled like a cocktail of burnt popcorn and cheap vanilla body lotion. The ceiling fan above my head squeaked like a starving mouse, and I had been staring at it for the last two hours.The only thing more irritating than the heat sticking to my skin was the sound of Winona and Sheena in the kitchen.“I’m telling you, Sheen, he sent the fire emoji three times. Three. Times,” Winona shouted, like the entire neighborhood needed to be in on her love life.“That means he wants you now,” Sheena declared dramatically, gulping down her half–iced tea, half–Sprite mix she proudly called her “mocktail summer edition.”I rolled onto the other side of the couch, my face landing on a pillow that felt like an old sponge. The open criminal law textbook on my lap hadn’t been read in hours. There was a shiny lip gloss stain on one of the pages, courtesy of someone I di

EIGHT YEARS AGOThe Capri night sky glittered like a diamond bracelet. Summer air carried the salt of the sea and the faint bite of basil drifting from villa kitchens. At the Romano family estate because of course only a family like that could host a party like this. The main courtyard glowed like a magazine spread.String lights swayed between lemon trees and white linen canopies. Soft jazz floated through the air, as if the world existed only for spritzes and expensive smiles.I stood at the edge of the garden, a glass of rosé in hand. My black slip dress skimmed my calves, half-open back exposed to the night, one shoulder strap sliding down because I couldn’t be bothered to pull it up. Out of the handful of clothes I’d packed for this trip, it was the only thing that passed as “decent.”Unfortunately, it was fighting for survival among couture gowns that looked like they’d walked straight off the Milan runway five minutes ago.“I’ve got eyes on another one,” Winona hissed beside me

EIGHT YEARS AGO. Morning in Capri looked like watercolor. The sky was pale blue brushed with thin clouds, and the sun climbed up slowly, as if it knew someone drunk had only just passed out three hours ago. The air carried a trace of sea salt and the faint smell of coffee drifting from somewhere unseen.I stepped out of the villa, alone. Of course. Winona and Sheena were probably still comatose in their beds, tangled up with hangovers and the sins of last night. Sheena had screamed for coconut water at three in the morning, while Winona sang Adele through tears. Both of them could stage a small death this morning and I wouldn’t be surprised.Nicolas? He was gone before sunrise. Something about an important meeting with a business partner. Could be mafia. Could be a skincare CEO with a nuclear bunker. Who knows.I followed a narrow stone path framed by bougainvillea, my leather sandals tapping softly against the warm ground. No plan, no map, just the mission of finding coffee and some

EIGHT YEARS AGOMy internal clock usually only works for emergencies: exams, major sales, or the sudden urge to escape human interaction.But this morning... I was quiet. No comebacks. No teasing. No telling Zane Romano to find the nearest hole and fall into it.Maybe because he kept talking. About how Capri was once a Roman emperor’s hideaway, about the legend of the Blue Island said to heal broken hearts, about the Faraglioni cliffs rising from the sea like the chest of an overconfident Italian man.Or maybe because he bought me lemon-rosemary gelato without asking. And then a slice of torta caprese, insisting it was “mandatory if you want your life to make sense.”He walked me down Via Camerelle, the shopping street lined with designer stores, but Zane didn’t even glance at the fancy displays. Instead, he pointed to an old leather workshop and went on about the craftsman inside, claiming the man could guess your waist size just by watching you walk.When we finally sat on a big roc