My Ex-husband Is Now My Boss

The Rules We Broke

Chapter Three

The Rules We Broke

I didn't sleep.

Not because of the conference or the thought of spending another two days trapped in the same building as my ex-husband.

I couldn't sleep because of five words.

I didn't stop loving you.

Damien's voice kept replaying in my head.

I sat up and stared at the ceiling.

Three years.

I had spent three years convincing myself that leaving Damien had been the right decision.

I couldn't let one sentence destroy everything.

I walked into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.

"You don't love him," I whispered to my reflection.

The words sounded like a lie.

By seven-thirty, I was dressed in a cream blouse, black trousers, and heels. I tied my hair into a neat ponytail and checked my phone.

A message waited.

Damien: Breakfast. Ten minutes.

I typed I'm coming.

Deleted it.

Typed I'll meet you downstairs.

Deleted that too.

Finally, I sent:

Okay.

I hated how much thought I had put into one word.

---

When I entered the hotel restaurant, Damien was already seated.

He wore a dark navy suit with no tie.

"You're late."

I checked my phone.

"It's 7:58."

"I said breakfast at 7:50."

"You didn't give me a specific time."

"I thought you'd know."

I sat opposite him.

"I don't read minds."

His lips curved.

"Still stubborn."

"Still controlling."

"I prefer organized."

"I prefer breathing."

He chuckled.

The sound reminded me of Sunday mornings in our old apartment, when he would sit at the kitchen counter pretending he didn't like my slightly burned pancakes.

I pushed the memory away.

A waiter approached.

"Coffee," Damien said.

Then he looked at me.

"Black?"

I froze.

He remembered.

"Yes."

"Two coffees and breakfast."

When the waiter left, I stared at him.

"You remember how I take my coffee."

"I remember everything about you."

My fingers tightened around the menu.

"Don't say things like that."

"Why?"

"Because we're divorced."

"Being divorced doesn't erase memories."

"It should make them irrelevant."

His eyes darkened.

"Are they irrelevant to you?"

I didn't answer.

For the next twenty minutes, we discussed the conference, investors, and schedules.

Anything except us.

Then Victoria approached.

"Damien."

I recognized her immediately.

She looked beautiful in an emerald-green dress.

"I was looking for you."

"I'm here."

She glanced at me.

"Obviously."

She placed a folder on the table.

"The revised proposal."

"Thank you."

Instead of leaving, she sat beside him.

"Can I join you?"

I stared at my coffee.

I refused to care.

Victoria discussed the presentation with Damien. They looked comfortable together.

Too comfortable.

When she touched his arm, something inside me twisted.

I looked away.

Why did I care?

He was my ex-husband.

He could date anyone he wanted.

"Amara?"

I looked up.

"You haven't touched your breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

"You said you were hungry."

"I'm fine."

He pushed his plate toward me.

"Eat."

"I'm not a child."

"I know."

"Then stop ordering me around."

His eyes held mine.

"Please eat."

That word silenced me.

I picked up my fork.

"Fine."

Victoria watched us carefully before standing.

"I'll see you at the conference."

When she left, I looked at Damien.

"She likes you."

"I know."

"And you don't like her?"

"Why are you asking?"

"I'm not."

"You just did."

I glared at him.

"You've become insufferable."

"You used to like that about me."

"I was younger."

His smile faded.

"So did I."

I stood.

"I'll see you at the conference."

I walked away.

---

The conference hall was packed.

I stood backstage with the presentation documents in my hands.

"I'm nervous," I whispered.

"You don't get nervous."

"I do now."

"There are five hundred people out there."

"Exactly."

He looked at me.

"Then look at me."

I turned.

"You used to do that."

I remembered our first year of marriage. Before one of his business events, I had been terrified.

He had whispered:

If you get nervous, find me.

I had looked at him all evening.

And somehow, everything had felt safe.

"That was a long time ago," I whispered.

"Not to me."

His name was announced.

Damien walked onto the stage.

He became the CEO everyone knew—confident, powerful, controlled.

Then it was my turn.

I stepped onto the stage.

My hands were cold.

My heart raced.

Then I found Damien.

He was watching me.

Not the presentation.

Me.

I took a breath and began.

Within minutes, the fear disappeared.

I answered questions and explained the projections confidently.

When I finished, the room erupted in applause.

Backstage, Damien approached me.

"That was impressive."

"Thank you."

"You were nervous."

"I was."

"You didn't show it."

"I've gotten better at hiding things."

His expression changed.

"I know."

A photographer approached.

"Mr. Sterling, Ms. Bennett, could we get a photo?"

I stepped back.

"No."

"It's for the company."

Damien looked at me.

"One photo."

I reluctantly stood beside him.

"Closer, please."

I stiffened.

Damien placed his hand lightly against my waist.

My entire body froze.

The touch was brief, but my heart didn't understand that.

His fingers were exactly where they had been so many times before.

I swallowed.

"Perfect," the photographer said.

Damien removed his hand.

I turned to him.

"Don't touch me like that again."

"I'm sorry."

"You should be."

He nodded.

"I will."

I expected an argument.

Instead, he apologized.

Somehow, that made it harder.

---

That evening, the company hosted a private dinner.

Our assigned seats were next to each other.

Victoria sat across from us.

During dinner, she turned toward Damien.

"Do you remember our trip to Paris?"

His expression hardened.

"No."

She laughed.

"Of course you do."

"I don't."

"It was five years ago. You stayed at the same hotel for three nights."

His voice became cold.

"I said I don't remember."

Victoria's smile disappeared.

I looked at my plate.

I shouldn't have cared.

But I did.

Then Damien's hand appeared beside mine beneath the table.

He didn't touch me.

It simply rested there.

Close.

Very close.

I moved my hand away.

His fingers curled into a fist.

He withdrew his hand.

---

Later that night, I stood alone on the hotel balcony.

I needed air.

The balcony door opened behind me.

"I told you I wanted to be alone."

"I know."

I sighed.

"Why are you here?"

"Because you left dinner upset."

"I'm fine."

"You've said that three times today."

"Maybe because I am."

He stepped beside me.

After a long silence, he said:

"Victoria and I were never together."

I looked at him.

"I didn't ask."

"I know."

"Then why explain?"

"Because I don't want you believing there was someone else."

My heart pounded.

"You don't owe me an explanation."

"I owe you many."

I looked away.

"Three years ago, you thought I didn't love you."

I said nothing.

"You thought there was another woman."

My throat tightened.

"Wasn't there?"

"No."

"Then why did you let me believe there was?"

He closed his eyes.

"Because I thought I was protecting you."

"Protecting me from what?"

He opened his eyes.

"There was a reason I pushed you away."

"Why?"

He hesitated.

"I can't tell you yet."

I laughed bitterly.

"Of course."

"Amara—"

"You always do this. Give me half the truth and expect me to trust you."

"I need time."

"You had three years."

"I know."

"Then why should I give you more?"

He stepped closer.

"Because I spent those three years wishing I could."

We stared at each other.

His eyes dropped to my lips.

My breath caught.

For one dangerous second, I thought he was going to kiss me.

Then he whispered:

"Tell me to leave."

I couldn't.

"Amara."

I swallowed.

"I should."

"But you haven't."

"No."

"Why?"

I didn't know.

Or maybe I did.

Despite the divorce, anger, and years apart, a part of me still recognized him.

Still wanted him.

Still remembered what it felt like to be loved by him.

His hand lifted and touched a loose strand of hair near my cheek.

I closed my eyes.

Memories flooded back—our wedding, our first home, his laughter, his arms around me.

Then I remembered the night everything fell apart.

I stepped back.

"No."

He immediately lowered his hand.

"Okay."

"This can't happen."

"I know."

"We're divorced."

"I know."

"You're my boss."

"I know."

"And I don't trust you."

Pain flashed across his face.

"You have every right not to."

I turned toward the door.

Then stopped.

"Damien?"

"Yes?"

"If you really never stopped loving me..."

He waited.

"Then tell me the truth."

His expression became serious.

"I will."

"When?"

"Tomorrow."

"Promise?"

His eyes held mine.

"I promise."

I walked inside.

Before I closed the balcony door, I heard him whisper:

"I've waited three years for you to ask."

I closed the door.

For the first time since our divorce, I wondered if our marriage had ended because we stopped loving each other...

Or because someone had made sure we never got the chance to understand the truth.