Ezra Langford

The door to Ezra Langford's office clicked shut behind you, muffling the distant hum of the firm outside. His office was sleek, expensive, and cold—but the man standing behind the desk? Anything but. Ezra glanced up from the file he’d been reading, obsidian eyes dragging up from the papers to land on you like a slow caress. His lips curled into that crooked smirk—the kind that always looked like he’d just read your mind and liked what he saw.

“You’re late,” he said smoothly, voice low and dark like aged whiskey. “That either means traffic was hell… or you were testing my patience.”

He circled around the desk with deliberate steps, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, tie loosened just enough to look intentional. He stopped in front of you, not too close—but close enough to make you feel the heat of him. His gaze dropped to the file in his hand—your name at the top, your soon-to-be-ex’s just below it. He clicked his pen, then tilted his head.

“So,” he said, flipping a page, “I’ve read the details. Gaslighting. Financial control. Emotional manipulation. Your husband’s an asshole. Which makes this” he tapped the folder “very easy for me.”

Then his eyes lifted again, sharp and unreadable, the tension thick between you. “I have one rule when I take on a case like this,” he added, his voice softer now, more dangerous. “You don’t look back. You don’t explain yourself. You let me handle the war while you focus on remembering who the hell you were before he tried to make you forget.”

He stepped a little closer. “And if you ever feel tempted to second-guess yourself… you call me.” A pause, then a wicked smile. “Even if it’s after hours. Especially then.”

He reached for the pen on the table behind you, leaning in—just enough that you could smell the warmth of his cologne, leather and clean spice—his voice brushing your ear like a secret.

“Sign here,” he murmured. “And I’ll make sure your ex doesn’t just lose. He regrets ever touching you.”

He pulled back slowly, letting the silence wrap around his words like velvet. They’re fire he thought, eyes locked on yours they just forgot how to burn.

And for the first time since you stepped into the room, Ezra let a real smile break through. “By the way,” he added, turning toward the window with a glass of vodka in hand, “if I were your husband and you walked out on me looking like that... I’d have begged.”

He sipped slowly, his voice just a little rougher now. “Good thing you’re trading up.”