Ezra Fitz Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Ezra, have you ever had a simple life? You were always busy in The Rebel Pack.” “Well, you don’t know this, but I used to be a farmer before Alpha Lance found a way to rope me into his business.” “Whoa. Really?” He nodded. “Really. I grew the best rice in the area.” “If you do go back to your simple life, I would love to partner with you to supply rice to our packs,” Kailin said. “Oh,” Ezra seemed to melt, “that would be lovely, Lycan Kailin.” “Are you falling in love with my ex-mate, Ezra?” Aspen jokingly asked.

Diana smiled and entered inside her house. ____________________ Millers mansion Ezra came back and entered inside the house,The maid greeted him and he smiled back as usual. Ezra family is one of the richest family. His father owns most of the hotel , restaurant and park in Las Vegas plus in other country . Ezra went straight to his room and freshen up before the maid informed him that Dinner is ready . Ezra came down to the dinning room wearing only joggers and no shirt like usual. He sat down in one of the table with his usual expression . The maid served his food and bowed In respect .

"N-No. I should be the one apologizing for being rude whenever you try to talk to me. I'm sorry, I'm not used to it. And I didn't know how to react." Ezra immediately shook both his hands in front of him as he also shook his head. "No, please don't apologize. It's my fault for being insensitive. That's my greatest flaw. People are saying that I should remember the boundaries between people. But I get excited too much sometimes that I couldn't think twice before doing anything." He scratched the back of his head. "That explains why you're uncomfortable with me." I blinked thousands of times. Doesn't this conversation flow too good for my side? How could Ezra accept his wrongdoings just like t

"Ezra! Table seven needs extra ice!" "Yeah, just a second!" Ezra called out loudly, raising his hand without even turning around. Both of his arms had been aching intensely since the afternoon. It was no surprise; he had just finished a grueling morning college shift and immediately rushed to the cafe where he worked without a single moment to catch his breath.

I gave Ezra a curious look. “Is Jacie you’re mate?” He turned his head and looked down for a minute as we continued walking. “Come on, we don’t keep secrets from each other.” Ezra chuckled and shook his head, “no she’s not my fated mate, but I do really like her, and I’m thinking about taking her as my chosen mate.” “What? Ezra your young. If you do that, what are you going to do when you meet your fated mate?” He shrugged his shoulders, “rejected her, I guess. At least I won’t need to go through the rejection three times.” He smirked, and I slapped his arm.

That had to be a joke. Right? Thursday. Ezra showed up ten minutes early again, this time in a loose, thin grey sweater and black jeans that fit just right. He wasn’t trying. Not really. Except he’d used product in his hair. And brushed his teeth three times. And put on cologne even though he barely owned any. When Damien walked in—same leather jacket, same slow stride—his gaze devoured him. “Good boy,” he said instead of hello. “You listened.”

He affirmed, throwing a glance at Zavier, "Not even him," Zara and Zavier locked eyes briefly before bursting into a hearty laugh. ‘ZQ11?!” Ezra froze, his jaw dropping. “You’re ZQ11! I'm a big fan!’ he shouted, grabbing Zane’s leg like it was a lifeline. Zane chuckled as he tousled Ezra’s hair. “That’s me. Now let’s see if you’re good enough to join my fan club.” He urged him to do his celebratory dance. Taking the lead, Ezra did a quick step-tap side to side. Zane and Ella joined and they did a double chest-pound and then pointed at the sky. Zane then picked the twins up, kissing their cheeks and making them giggle excitedly.

“No. We need retirement.” “We need certainty,” I reply. “Those are different things.” “Yes.” Ezra remains focused on the point. Controlled. Disciplined. No visible reaction to what just happened. But I know him well enough to notice the increased precision in his posture. He is narrowing himself. Closing unnecessary doors. Good. Necessary. The point rests in the projection at a balanced distance once more. Neither advancing nor withdrawing. No pulse. No pressure. Waiting. Always waiting. “It may have responded to pattern interruption,” I say.

Ezra was leaning back against the headboard, one knee bent, lazily flipping through Adrian’s notes as if he owned them, and by extension, him. “You write too neat,” Ezra murmured, tapping his pen against a word in Adrian’s margin. “Makes me wonder if you’re that careful with everything you touch.” The smile that followed wasn’t friendly, it was calculated, slow, the kind of smile that worked under your skin. Adrian’s throat felt tight. “I’m just… organized.” “Organized, huh?” Ezra tilted his head, eyes sweeping over him without shame. “You should teach me sometime. I’m a fast learner.” His tone dripped with something heavier than study talk, but he didn’t break eye contact long enough for Ad

Ezra is not only a genius but a blend of conglomerate and mafia royalty. He inherited the Ashfields assets and legacy after his parents died in a car accident at the age of sixteen. His mother’s sister, Taylor Barlowe, who was only twenty-three back then, stepped in to raise him. He adored his aunt—a fierce woman with big ideas. She was all about breaking the mold, a true artist who lived and breathed art, never one to follow the crowd. That's why she raised him without shackling him to the Ashfield name. She let him carve his path, call the shots, and learn from his own mistakes. And that’s the reason why he chose the surname, Barlowe, so he can hide the fact that he’s a mafia-billionaire.