All Chapters of Mistaken Night With my Ex-Husband: Chapter 31 - Chapter 40

The aftermath of the gala felt like waking up after a beautiful dream only to realize the house was surrounded by creditors and cameras. Dominic had spent the last forty-eight hours transforming the library into a satellite headquarters because he refused to leave the villa for even a single board meeting in London. I watched him from the doorway as he sat at the mahogany desk surrounded by three separate monitors and a half-eaten plate of the lemon tarts he had ordered for me earlier that morning.He was currently muted on a video conference and the frustrated expression on his face told me that the corporate sharks were finally starting to circle the boat. The stock price had taken a sharp dive the moment the world realized the Ice King was actually a man who preferred cradling a pregnant wife to crushing his competitors. He looked up and saw me standing there and the hard line of his jaw immediately softened into something that resembled the man I had fallen in love with in the gar

The morning sun filtered through the lemon trees and hit the cool marble floors of our Amalfi kitchen with a brilliance that made the world feel new. Dominic stood in the center of the vast culinary space and looked at the professional-grade stove as if it were a high-tech rival he was preparing to acquire. He had officially dismissed the private chef for the next seven days and declared that no one but him would be responsible for the nourishment of his wife and children. I leaned against the stone counter and watched him tie a simple white apron over his linen trousers with a focused intensity that was usually reserved for multi-billion dollar mergers. "I am fairly certain that your experience with a kitchen is limited to pointing at a menu or nodding at a waiter in a Michelin-starred restaurant," I teased. He looked at me with a playful glint in his eyes and a smudge of flour already appearing on his jawline despite the fact that he hadn't even opened a cupboard yet.

The private beach below the estate was a crescent of silver sand that seemed to glow under the light of a swollen Mediterranean moon. Dominic had spent the late afternoon hauling small crates down the stone steps and arranging a circle of driftwood logs around a modest bonfire. He had sourced biodegradable paper lanterns from a shop in the village and laid them out on a low table with a set of ink brushes that smelled faintly of pine resin and ancient rituals. I walked down the stairs with my hand resting on the railing for support and felt the cool night air pull the lingering heat of the day from my skin. The "Ice King" was nowhere to be seen as he stood by the fire with his sleeves rolled up and a look of quiet serenity that made my heart ache with a sudden and sharp intensity. He looked like a man who had finally found the frequency he was meant to operate on and it had nothing to do with the static of the corporate world. "I wanted to do something to mark the end of our time in

The final forty-eight hours in our Amalfi sanctuary felt less like a vacation wrap-up and more like the strategic evacuation of a sovereign state. Dominic had traded his relaxed linen shirts for a crisp black button-down and a pair of trousers that meant business in three different time zones. He was currently pacing the length of the master suite while orchestrating a series of decoys that would involve two different private planes and a fleet of empty town cars in Naples.I sat on the edge of the bed and watched him treat our luggage manifest with the same level of intensity he usually reserved for a hostile takeover of a rival tech firm. "I am fairly certain that Julian Sterling does not have the naval capacity to intercept our departure from a private pier in broad daylight," I pointed out while folding a tiny cashmere onesie I had bought in the village. He stopped pacing and looked at me with a sharp and focused expression that told me the "Ice King" was slowly reclaiming his thr

When Eleanor finally left, the silence that rushed back into the room wasn't peaceful. It wasn't that soft, salt-air quiet we had in Amalfi. It was heavy and jarring, the kind of ringing silence you get right after a blast. Dominic and I just stood there in the middle of the drawing room, surrounded by the stiff, lifeless furniture she’d shoved around to suit her taste. The lilies she brought in were making my head swim—the scent was thick and cloying—but even so, the house felt like it was finally breathing again. Dominic didn't wait for the staff to show up. He walked straight over to that velvet armchair his mother had treated like a throne and shoved it back into the corner. The sound of it grating against the marble was harsh, but it felt right. He started grabbing the leather folders she’d spread across the coffee table, tossing them into a messy heap like they were junk. "This was supposed to be your space," he muttered, and I could hear the leftover rage vibrating in his ches