The Billionaire's Amnesiac Lover

Ryker Cross spent two years making me believe I was his future. Then he paid me to walk away from his life without knowing I was carrying his future. I stood across from his desk while the rain hammered the windows. He didn’t ask me to sit. He just opened a drawer and took out a thick envelope. “Take this,” he said. “What is it?” “Severance. Lease payments. Six months of living costs. It’s enough.” I stared at the envelope. “You’re ending it like this?” “I’m ending it cleanly.” “Cleanly?” My voice came out sharper than I meant. “You called me three nights ago and told me to leave the door unlocked.” “That was a mistake.” “You stayed until four in the morning.” “I shouldn’t have.” I stepped closer to the desk. “Say what you actually mean, Ryker.” He looked at me the same way he looked at spreadsheets that no longer balanced. “This arrangement is over.” “Arrangement. That’s what you’re calling it now.” “Yes.” “Two years. You kept an apartment for me. You bought the dresses I wore to those private dinners. You told me you hated every other woman in this building.” “I said things in the moment.” “You said them while your hands were on me.” He pushed the envelope toward the edge of the desk. “Freya Langford and I announced the engagement an hour ago. The merger depends on it. Her family’s votes control the regulatory board. Without them the deal collapses.” I laughed once. It sounded wrong in the quiet office. “So I get a check and she gets the ring.” “She gets the future of this company. You get enough money to start over somewhere else.” “Somewhere else.” “Yes.” I picked up the envelope and felt the weight of the paper. “How long have you known you were going to do this?” “Long enough.” “How long?” “Two weeks.” My fingers tightened. “You slept with me four days ago.” “I know.” “You looked at me like I still mattered.” “I was wrong.” I set the envelope down again. “Look at me when you say that.” He did. His face stayed calm. “You were a distraction I could afford while the board was distracted by other things. That time is finished.” “Distraction.” “Yes.” “You told me you liked the way I waited up for you. You told me the city felt quieter when I was in the apartment.” “I told you what kept the nights simple.” My throat burned. “You’re getting married and you still sound like you’re closing a file.” “I am closing a file.” “Don’t do that. Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your assistants.” “You were one of my assistants. That’s how this started.” I took a step back. “I quit that job because you asked me to. You said it looked better if no one in the building knew.” “It did look better.” “And now you’re paying me to stay quiet about the rest.” “I’m paying you so you don’t land on the street. There’s a difference.” I shook my head. “You don’t even sound sorry.” “I’m not interested in being sorry. I’m interested in finishing this without a scene.” “You think this is a scene?” “I think you’re about to make one.” I laughed again, shorter this time. “You spent two years training me not to make scenes. Late nights. Separate cars. Never the same restaurant twice. I learned the rules.” “Then follow them now. Take the money and leave.” I picked the envelope back up. “What if I don’t?” “Security will escort you out. The building access codes change at midnight. The apartment lease is already transferred to your name for the next six months. After that you’re on your own.” “You planned every detail.” “I plan everything.” I looked at the rain running down the glass. “I was going to tell you something tonight.” “Whatever it is, it doesn’t change the outcome.” “You don’t even want to know?” “No.” The word landed flat. I nodded once. “Okay.” He waited. “Is that all?” “That’s all.” I turned toward the door. My hands were shaking so I pushed them into the pockets of my coat. The envelope dug into my side. “Sienna.” I stopped but didn’t turn around. “Don’t contact the office. Don’t contact Freya. Don’t contact anyone who works for me.” “I heard you the first time.” “Good.” I walked out. The hallway lights felt too bright. My shoes made small wet sounds on the marble because the rain had already soaked the bottoms. The elevator took too long. When the doors opened I stepped inside and stared at the floor numbers instead of my own reflection. Outside the storm hit harder. Water ran down my neck and under my collar. I didn’t open an umbrella. I didn’t have one. I crossed the plaza and turned down the side street toward the station. The city noise sat under the rain like it belonged to someone else. My hand moved to my stomach on its own. The secret was still small. Twelve weeks. I had practiced the sentence in the bathroom before I came upstairs. None of those words had anywhere to go now. I reached the crosswalk and stopped under a streetlight that flickered. Water pooled around my feet. I pressed my palm against the fabric of my dress and felt the slight curve that no one else could see yet. Headlights cut through the rain from my left. They moved too fast. I turned my head. The engine sound rose. Tires locked and screamed against the wet road. I didn’t have time to step back. The impact lifted me. Pain tore through my side and hip. My body hit the pavement and slid. The envelope flew out of my bag. The check landed in a black puddle and began to dissolve. Rain struck my face. I tried to pull in air and got nothing. Somewhere above me a voice shouted. Footsteps slapped the street. The headlights stayed on, white and endless. My eyes closed. The last thing I heard was the long fading screech of tires disappearing into the rain.