Lahat ng Kabanata ng His Ex Mistress, His Enemy: Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

EIGHT YEARS AGONight slipped softly over Capri, wrapping the villa in something that felt like the sea’s own breath. The wind carried the faint bite of rosemary from the garden, and from the dining room came the clink of glasses, too polished to belong to what should have been just dinner. The long oak table was set with candles and white porcelain plates.Winona sat beside me, biting into a roasted almond like she was plotting a crime. I chewed slowly, then without changing expression, flicked one at her.It landed squarely in her water glass.“Seriously?” she hissed, whipping her head toward me.I grinned. “Your throw this afternoon was pathetic. I’m saving your dignity.”She grabbed another and kicked me under the table. I grunted, jabbed her side with my elbow, then stabbed into my salad with unnecessary aggression.Across the table, Sheena was glued to Nicolas, as usual. Her body angled toward him, chin propped on her hand, expression tragic enough to win an Italian soap opera a

EIGHT YEARS AGOI opened my eyes slowly, and the world still looked like an impressionist painting shaken by a hyperactive toddler. Afternoon light poured through the round window, spilling honey-colored warmth across the room, but not nearly enough to make me rise without wanting to vomit out half my soul.My head was heavy, though at least I no longer felt like hurling my organs overboard.Sheena burst in like a tiny, overconfident storm, wearing a blinding satin robe and sunglasses as if she were the guest star in a 2000s music video. “You alive?” she asked lightly, as if I hadn’t just gone through my own private maritime tragedy.“I think so. Although my kidneys are still undecided.”She sighed dramatically, then grabbed my arm. “Come on. Lunch. I’m bored eating alone. Winona is still busy gossiping with some guest who used to date an actress in Hollywood.”“I just recently regained consciousness. Can we wait… three decades?”“You need rice or bread or whatever will get your blood

The room was still dim when I opened my eyes. The sky outside the round window had deepened, the sea turning into a smear of dark ink-purple. Salt, peppermint oil, and the faint aftertaste of death from my stomach still lingered in the air. I blinked slowly, stretching with the faint groan of a retired mafia grandmother.Across the room, Sheena sat cross-legged on her bed, damp hair spilling over her shoulders, staring at her phone with a tragic expression. “God, dinner tonight is semi-formal. Which means every guest has to show up. Including you, shipwreck zombie.”“I just came back to life five minutes ago,” I rasped. “Give me time to mourn.”Winona rose from the sofa, stretching like a cat. “We all napped too. Three hours of swimming and two rounds of jet skiing with the socialite moms fried half my nervous system.”I pulled my knees up and sat. The world had stopped spinning. Just a faint wobble now. Probably hunger. Or trauma from throwing up in front of the most beautiful man I’

FLASHBACKThe music slowed, as if every instrument in the room suddenly recognized who stood at the center. The chandelier overhead threw a warm shimmer across Zane’s hair, and his eyes, blue like the calm surface of a deep ocean, glittered with danger disguised as beauty.His left hand still held mine. But his right…his right was on my waist. Warm. Too comfortable. Too right. And far too wrong. Because my body, the one that usually couldn’t care less about anyone’s touch, went rigid, every nerve stringing tight like thin wire being pulled to the breaking point.“Could you… step back a little?” I whispered, brow arched.Zane didn’t answer. He only leaned in, just enough to knock my breath off rhythm.“Relax,” he murmured, his voice threading through my head like a spell.I wanted to snap back, to arm myself with sarcasm the way I always did. But my body wasn’t listening to my brain. Not when his gaze locked on me, burning hot enough to freeze blood in my veins. Okay, that didn’t even

FlashbackChalk-white rocks jutted out of glass-clear water, sharp as the teeth of some sleeping sea god. The little island was almost deserted, save for a few twisted pines and a lone wooden shack in the distance, probably owned by a retired fisherman who’d traded storms for seagulls.Isola del Gallo. A name that sounded like either the title of an Italian erotic novel or the setting of an upscale murder. In reality, it was prettier than both.And there I was, standing at the edge of a rubber dinghy in a wetsuit far too tight and far too expensive, regretting every life choice that had dragged me here.“Stop looking at me like I just caused an ecological disaster,” Zane said from behind me.I turned. He was already prepped, dive mask hanging around his neck, sun-dried hair tousled in a way that should not have made it hard to breathe, but of course it did. Muscles beneath neoprene stretched like a gym campaign poster, and I considered suing the wetsuit manufacturer for designing some