My Ex Husband Who Wouldn’t Let Go

Samantha’s POV

“I’ve agreed to marry Nathaniel Sterling.”

The words felt like ice sliding down my throat.

My father, Rowan Montclair—the man who controlled every corner of our family empire—froze at the edge of his office, the scent of expensive leather and cedar lingering in the air. His head tilted slowly, disbelief etched into every line of his face.

“You can’t be serious,” he said at last, narrowing his eyes.

I was serious. I had never been more serious in my life.

Nathaniel Sterling. Heir to one of the most powerful business dynasties in the country, feared, respected, untouchable… until the scandal that left him comatose. Poisoned, they said, by someone who wanted his empire for themselves. He’d collapsed during a corporate retreat, and no doctor, no specialist, not even the world’s top neurologists could wake him. His fortune and power kept him alive—but only as a shadow of the man he had been.

And no one wanted to marry him. Who would? Engaging to a man who might never wake, tying your life to a fortune trapped in a motionless body.

Except me. And I had my reasons.

“The Sterlings have been demanding the engagement,” I reminded my father, voice steady. “You know they won’t wait forever.”

“They wanted Bella,” he said sharply.

“I know,” I said, cold as marble. “But Bella can’t stand the thought of being Nathaniel’s fiancée. So I’m offering myself instead.”

He exhaled slowly, and for a moment, I thought he might object. Then, like the shrewd, calculating man he was, his shoulders relaxed. “This… could work,” he said, voice measured. “It secures the alliance, gives them a fiancée, protects our interests in the north… I’ll start planning immediately. The ceremony—”

“I want compensation,” I cut in, my tone slicing through the air.

He turned, eyes narrowing. “What?”

“You’re offering me as a substitute. Convenience, not love. So if I’m going to marry a man in a coma to save your favorite illegitimate daughter, I want something for myself.”

He scowled. “Samantha, don’t be dramatic—”

“Half of the family holdings,” I said plainly. “Not just the ceremonial perks. Half of everything you control, including your personal accounts.”

His nostrils flared. “That would ruin me.”

“Good,” I said.

He stared at me like I was a stranger, not the daughter he had kept at arm’s length while spoiling another. Like he didn’t recognize the girl who had grown up in the shadow of his betrayal.

“And,” I added, already heading toward the door, “reassign Ashford.”

He blinked. “What?”

“My assistant—Ashford. He’ll guard Bella from now on.”

“You’re giving up Ashford?” he asked, stunned. “You’ve been obsessed with him for years.”

“Not anymore,” I said without looking back.

He didn’t follow. Didn’t call after me. Not as my heels clicked against the marble floor, not as the door swung closed.

But I knew he would agree. He always gave Bella everything. One favor for me wasn’t too much to ask.

My mother had died from heartbreak when she discovered my father’s secret family—when she realized he’d loved another while still married to her. The betrayal drove her to madness. She died screaming. I watched.

Since then, I’d hated him. Hated them. Hated Bella most of all.

Maybe that was why I had clung to Ashford. Because he was all I had. All I could trust. All I believed in.

Until recently.

By the time I returned to my penthouse on the outskirts of the city, past midnight, the moonlight glinted off the glass towers below. Most people lived in the glittering heart of the city, close to the banks, the clubs, the boardrooms. I preferred distance. Distance was honest.

But as I neared the guest quarters down the long hallway, I heard it—soft, uneven breathing. Heated, intimate.

It was Ashford.

The door was cracked open. I should have turned away. Respected the boundaries. But I didn’t.

I leaned in.

And what I saw shattered me.

Ashford, shirtless, sweat glinting across his broad shoulders, hand moving with intent over his own body. In his other hand, a photograph.

Not just any photo. Bella.

He whispered her name like a prayer, slow, reverent, agonizing.

I froze. My chest tightened. Betrayal roared in my veins.

Ashford, the man I had chosen from a dozen elite aides, the one I had loved quietly and desperately for years… had never cared for me at all.

Not honor. Not restraint. Disinterest. Pure, unflinching desire for her.

Then his phone buzzed. He picked it up, calm, commanding, lethal in his poise.

“I’ve been pretending to be Samantha’s right-hand for years,” he said. “You think I’d let her get in the way? Bella is the target. Samantha is just the tool.”

The words hit me like a bullet.

“She’s not even worth my time. Bella is everything. She’s the key.”

And that was the blow that broke me.

He glanced toward me, indifferent. “Take care of my people while I’m gone. Understood?”

That was it. My Ashford. My heart. My trust. Gone.

I should have walked away. I should have screamed. I should have let the walls of the penthouse witness my fury.

Instead, I kicked the door open.