My Cheating Ex Lost Me to His Billionaire CEO

I turned around.

Miles leaned against the glass wall, coffee in hand, smiling like we were old friends.

"What are you doing on fifty-two?" I asked.

"Dropping off campaign decks. Lucky timing." He tipped his cup toward the corner office. "So? Was it the interview that sealed the deal? Or what came after?"

"I earned that job."

"Sure you did." He raised his voice just enough. "Everybody knows Vale likes his assistants young. Took you, what, one meeting? Impressive, Clara. Really."

Behind me, someone snorted.

"You're disgusting," I said.

"I'm honest." He pushed off the wall and brushed past me. His shoulder clipped mine. "Ask around. People already did the math."

By nine-thirty, they had.

My phone kept lighting up. The group chat. Private messages from people I'd never met.

*Is it true you knew Vale before?*

*Lol good for you girl, whatever works.*

*How many "interviews" did it take?*

I flipped the phone face-down and opened the Holloway file. The numbers sat there. They didn't care what anyone said about me. I tried to be like them.

---

At eleven, a paper cup landed on my desk.

"Oat latte. You look like you need it."

Tessa Lang perched on the edge of my desk. Pressed blouse, every button done up this time. Her perfume was the same one I'd smelled on Miles's collar.

"I don't want it," I said.

"Oh, honey." She tilted her head. "I just came to check on you. People are being so cruel up here."

"People are repeating what your boyfriend posted."

"He's not my—" She laughed and waved it off. "Look, I'm on your side. Women have to look out for each other, right?" She leaned closer and dropped her voice. "So just between us. You and Mr. Vale. Is there something? You can tell me."

There it was.

"No," I said. "There isn't."

"Because if there is, it's really none of my business—"

"Then why are you asking?"

Her smile froze for half a second. Then it melted back into place, sweet and sticky.

"Wow. Okay. I was trying to help." She stood and smoothed her skirt. Loud enough for the whole row, she added, "Defensive much? That kind of says it all, doesn't it?"

Two desks over, a woman quickly looked away. A man by the printer grinned at his screen.

I opened my mouth to explain. To say anything.

Nobody was waiting to hear it.

Tessa picked the latte back up. "Shame to waste it," she said, and walked off sipping.

My face burned so hot I could feel my pulse in my ears.

---

The break room was empty. I shut the door, gripped the counter, and the tears came before I could stop them.

Ugly, shaking ones. The kind you swallow and they come back up anyway.

Three weeks. I'd rewritten my résumé eleven times. I'd stayed up until four in the morning studying Veyron's annual reports, practicing answers out loud to my bathroom mirror. Miles had been asleep in my bed while I did it.

*You're wasting your time,* he'd mumbled once. *Come to bed.*

And now he'd erased all of it. Three weeks of work, gone with one post and a winking emoji.

The door opened.

I spun toward the window and dragged my sleeve across my face.

Footsteps. The hiss of the coffee machine. The clink of a mug.

I didn't need to look. Cedar. The same smell from the back of his car.

Lucian.

I stood very still and stared at the rain on the glass, waiting for him to say *private problems stay private* again. Waiting for *pack your desk*.

The machine finished. The footsteps stopped right behind me.

One second. Two.

Then they went the other way. The door clicked shut.

He hadn't said a single word.

I let out a laugh, wet and broken, at nothing. Then I washed my face and went back to my desk.

---

The email came at 9:04 the next morning.

*From: Human Resources*

*Following an internal review, Miles Garrow (Marketing) has been suspended from active projects pending further evaluation, for spreading unsubstantiated rumors and engaging in conduct harmful to team collaboration. A formal warning has also been issued to Tessa Lang.*

I read it three times.

Then I got up and knocked once on his door.

"Come in."

Lucian was at his desk, pen in hand, a contract spread out in front of him.

"Mr. Vale. The HR notice." My voice came out smaller than I wanted. "Did you... was that you? Did you do that for me?"

He turned a page. He didn't raise his head.

"He violated company policy."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"Because it feels like—"

"Miss Dunmore." He signed something, sharp and fast. "Is the travel schedule finished?"

"Almost."

"Then it isn't finished."

I backed out of the room. But in the doorway, I caught it. His pen had stopped moving. It stayed still until I closed the door.

---

The next morning, I stopped at the tea shop on the corner and stood in line for twenty minutes.

I set the cup on his desk. Brown sugar milk tea, extra pearls, extra everything.

"What is this?"

"A thank-you."

He eyed the cup like it might bite him. "I don't drink sweet things."

"Oh." My cheeks went warm. "Right. Sorry. I'll take it—"

"Leave it."

"But you just said—"

"Your nine o'clock memo, Miss Dunmore."

I left it.

At lunch, I went back in with the memo. The cup had moved. It sat closer to his right hand now, the straw bent, and a third of it was gone.

He saw me notice. His jaw set.

"It was in the way," he said.

I bit the inside of my cheek so hard it hurt. "Of course, sir."

---

That night I was on my couch, still in my work blouse, eating cereal for dinner, when my phone buzzed.

I braced for the group chat. For Miles.

It was an unknown number.

*Bring the same tomorrow.*

No name. No *please*. No period, even.

I didn't need a name.

I stared at those four words until the screen dimmed. I tapped it awake and read them again. Then I laughed, alone in my apartment, my hand pressed over my mouth like someone might hear.

I typed *Yes, sir.* Deleted it. Typed *Extra pearls?* Deleted that too.

Finally, I sent: *Same as today.*

The reply came in eight seconds.

*Good.*

I was still smiling when a second message appeared beneath it. Not from him.

From Miles.

*Enjoy it while it lasts. I know what you did.*