My Billionaire Ex Keeps Me While Loving Someone Else

The email popped up on my screen at 9:00 AM. The subject line was in bold letters: *Pinnacle Media Group Acquired*. I clicked it open and scanned the text. Then I stopped. My eyes locked on the buyer's name.

*Adonis Hunter.*

The air in the room suddenly felt too thin. I read the name three times. I didn't move for two full minutes. My hands rested on the keyboard, cold and stiff. The hum of the office chatter faded into a dull buzz. Seven years. It had been seven years since I broke his heart in a cramped Brooklyn apartment. I told him I only wanted him for his family’s money. I watched his face shatter. I did it to save him from his father’s threats, but Adonis didn't know that. He just knew I ruined him.

I opened a blank document. My fingers trembled slightly as I typed. *I, Sierra Webb, hereby resign from my position...* I stared at the black words on the white screen. My chest ached. I wanted to run. But I minimized the window. I couldn't send it. Not yet.

At 10:30 AM, we gathered in the main conference room. The murmurs died down the second the glass doors opened. Adonis walked in.

He didn't look like the boy who used to eat dollar pizza with me on the floor. He wore a sharp, dark suit that screamed money and power. He was flanked by his CFO, Marcus Vega, and a striking woman with dark, glossy hair. She clung to his arm. *Haisley Garcia,* the whisper went around the room. His fiancée.

Adonis stopped at the head of the table. His voice was flat and precise as he addressed the room. He spoke about restructuring and profit margins with boardroom perfection. His gaze swept the room. Then, it landed on me.

Two seconds. That was all it took.

His jaw tightened. A muscle leaped in his cheek. His dark eyes were cold, hard, and full of old ghosts. I didn't look away. I couldn't. I held his gaze until he broke the stare first. He moved on, continuing his speech as though I was just a piece of furniture.

An hour later, my desk phone rang. I was summoned to the executive floor.

I walked into his new glass-walled office. Adonis sat behind a massive desk. He didn't offer me a seat.

“Your editorial position has been eliminated,” he said. His voice was like ice.

My chest tightened, but I kept my tone steady. “I see.”

“You aren't fired,” he continued. He leaned back in his leather chair. “You are now my personal executive assistant.”

I blinked. “I don't have experience as an executive assistant.”

“You'll learn,” he snapped. “You will manage my calendar. Coordinate my meetings. And you will handle my social engagements with Haisley. Date nights. Weekend getaways. Everything.”

He leaned forward, his dark eyes watching my face with surgical attention. He was waiting for a crack. He wanted to see me flinch. He wanted me to beg or cry or show that it hurt to plan his dates with another woman.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Understood, Mr. Hunter.”

I turned to leave. As I did, my hand came up. I pressed my fingertips against my collarbone. It was an old habit. A small thing I did when I was trying not to fall apart. From the corner of my eye, I saw Adonis go completely still. His knuckles turned white on the edge of his desk. He remembered.

My first week was a nightmare. Adonis made sure of it.

On Wednesday, he made me change Haisley’s dinner reservation at Eleven Madison Park three times in one afternoon. I had to call the restaurant personally and apologize over and over. On Friday, he made me stand in his office and present Haisley’s weekend wardrobe preferences like I was a personal stylist.

“She prefers silk for the evening,” Adonis said, his eyes burning into mine. “Make sure the boutique sends the red dress.”

“Of course,” I said smoothly. I wrote it down in my notebook.

He hated it. He hated my calm voice and my blank face. He wanted me to break. But Haisley was watching me from the sofa. She had sharp, perceptive eyes. She saw me carefully fold my hands behind my back to stop them from shaking. She didn't look at me with a winner's triumph. She looked at me like she knew I was grieving.

On Monday, I used my lunch break to go to Chinatown. The small clinic smelled like bleach and old magazines. I sat in a hard plastic chair until Dr. Naomi Osei called my name.

She closed the door to the examination room and looked at me. Her face was very serious. “Sierra, the biopsy results came back.”

My hands gripped the edge of the paper-lined table. “Tell me.”

“It's stomach cancer,” she said quietly. “Stage two. It's aggressive.”

The room spun. The hum of the fluorescent lights suddenly sounded deafening. A cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck.

“We need to start treatment immediately,” Dr. Osei continued. She handed me a thick folder. “I've outlined the protocol. It will be intense. And it will be very expensive.”

I opened the folder. The numbers on the page blurred. It was a staggering amount. Money I didn't have. Money I couldn't ask for.

I sat there for exactly ten minutes. I let myself feel the terror. I let the tears prick my eyes. Then, I took a deep breath, pressed my fingers to my collarbone, and pushed it all down.

“Okay,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Schedule my first chemotherapy for my next day off.”

I thanked her, took the folder, and walked out into the busy street. The sun was shining. Cars were honking. People were laughing. I was dying.

I checked my watch. 1:45 PM. I hailed a cab and headed back to the office. I walked into Adonis's suite right on time. I sat down across from him for his 2:00 PM calendar review.

“You're late,” he muttered, not looking up from his tablet.

“I'm right on time, Mr. Hunter,” I replied, opening my notebook. “Your dinner with Haisley is at eight. The car will be downstairs at seven-thirty.”

He finally looked up. His eyes were dark and full of a quiet, furious storm. He wanted me to fight back. But I just smiled slightly. I wouldn't let him see my pain. I only had so much time left, and I was going to spend every second of it right here, near him. Even if he hated me.