Part 3Claimed by His Billionaire Best Friend

I jolted awake.

The bedroom was dead quiet, swallowed by the dark.

I reached up and touched my cheek. My skin was dry, but my eyes burned.

My phone buzzed softly on the nightstand.

It was Rowan.

He had sent a picture of the sunset from his office, the sky painted in bruised purples and golds.

[Thinking about you.]

I lay there holding the phone, a small smile pulling at my lips.

The heavy, suffocating weight in my chest miraculously began to ease.

Hayes had been far more ruthless than I ever anticipated. Immediately after ending things, he came to my family's estate. He pitched a business proposition: the corporate merger was at a critical stage. Our grandparents were in failing health. He didn't want the PR nightmare. He asked me to sign a two-year NDA.

In public, we were still engaged. In private, we didn't exist to each other. Neither of us could go public with a new partner until the two years were up.

Desperate to survive the fallout, I agreed. I booked a one-way ticket to London, just to breathe.

I hadn't been in the UK for three hours before my purse, containing my passport and wallet, was stolen in SoHo.

Stranded, unable to even check into a hotel, I thought of Rowan Montgomery.

Rowan was Hayes's oldest, best friend. Right after high school, Rowan had packed up and moved to Europe, building his own venture capital empire from the ground up, entirely separate from the Manhattan elite.

I sent him a desperate text.

Less than an hour later, he pulled up to the curb in a sleek Aston Martin, looking exhausted but impeccably put together. He took one look at my tear-stained, shivering state, didn't ask a single question, and drove me straight to his townhouse in Kensington. He put me in the guest room.

For the next few days, he cleared his schedule. He drove me out to the Cotswolds, took me to quiet cafes, and just let me exist without expectations.

Slowly, carefully, he helped me unpack the grief.

I mentioned, in passing, that I had lost my dog.

Rowan took down Barnaby's description. He weaponized his entire network back in New York, hiring private investigators to pull street cameras and shelter records.

A week later, he walked into the kitchen and set a folder on the counter.

"We found him. He's safe. A family in Brooklyn took him in."

Then, he cleared his calendar again and flew back to New York with me just to get my dog back.

That was the exact moment Rowan Montgomery began his quiet, undeniable invasion of my life.

At first, I fought it. My instinct was to run.

He was Hayes's best friend. The lines were supposed to be strictly drawn. I didn't want the gossip, and more importantly, I didn't want anyone—especially Rowan—thinking I was using him as a pawn to get back at Hayes.

I found a quiet moment to lay it out for him.

"Rowan. Hayes is sleeping with my best friend. If I get close to you now, everyone is going to say I'm just doing it for revenge." I looked him in the eye. "I value you too much as a friend to do that to you."

He didn't flinch. His eyes were clear, and a soft, easy smile touched his lips.

"I don't give a damn what other people think."

He took a half-step closer, his gaze locking onto mine, heavy with intent.

"Sloane. Even if you were just using me to survive the fallout... I'd still let you."

"Just try. Try being with me." His voice dropped to a rough whisper. "And if we don't make it to the end, I'll take the fall. I promise."

The Montgomery family had long ago moved the bulk of their wealth to European markets. They were untouchable over there. But for me, Rowan began the grueling process of moving his entire headquarters back to New York, piece by piece.

I watched him do it. And slowly, the ice around my heart began to thaw.

Yet, I was trapped by the contract. I couldn't give him the public acknowledgment he deserved.

Now, there were exactly seven days left until the two-year contract expired.

I pulled up Hayes's contact and typed out a text.

[Find time this week. We need to finalize the broken engagement.]

Hours passed before my screen lit up.

[What's the rush? We have seven days.]

I sent him the address of a café in Midtown.

[Tomorrow. 7 PM.]

He didn't reply.

The next evening, I sat in that café for forty minutes.

Hayes never showed.

As I sat there, I opened Instagram. The first thing on my feed was a new post from Gemma. It was a photo of the Manhattan skyline, taken through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Hayes's penthouse.

I paid my tab, walked out, and hailed a cab straight to his building.

When Hayes opened his front door, a flicker of guilt crossed his face.

"What are you doing here?"

"I sent you a time and place. You didn't show, so I came to you."

He frowned, opening his mouth to speak.

Before he could, Gemma walked out of the master bedroom. She was wearing one of his oversized button-downs.

When she saw me, her eyes went wide, feigning a perfect picture of panic.

I didn't blink. I knew exactly what this was. Hayes missing our meeting was her doing.

She drifted to his side, her voice sickly sweet. "Sloane! Wow, it's been a while. My apartment's water got shut off, so I just came over to use the shower. You don't mind, right?"

I offered a thin, polite smile.

"Your personal life is none of my business."

I didn't have the energy for her high school games. I looked right at Hayes.

"The corporate framework for the merger is locked in. The board doesn't need our engagement to keep the stock stable anymore. The contract is done. Tomorrow, we go to our parents and officially call off the wedding."

Hayes's face darkened. He stared hard into my eyes.

"You're in that much of a hurry to scrub me out of your life?"

I let out a dry laugh. "It's called honoring a contract."

I reached into my bag, pulled out the three-carat diamond engagement ring, and held it out to him.

"Here. The rest of the things you left at my place are boxed up. I'll have a courier drop them off tomorrow."

Hayes looked at the ring—the ring he had slipped onto my finger with shaking hands years ago. His eyes went blank for a second.

Then, he lifted his chin, his pride taking over.

"Keep it. I'm not desperate enough to ask for jewelry back."

I kept my hand extended, unyielding.

"Take it. My boyfriend doesn't like it when I keep things from other men."