Todos los capítulos de Mistaken Night With my Ex-Husband: Capítulo 1 - Capítulo 10

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

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

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

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

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