Discarded Ex: Claimed By The Boss

In the sterile hospital room, Seraphina sat wearing a mask, her fingers clenched tightly around Ethan's hand.

He was the boyfriend she had been with for four years, and they had just survived a horrific car accident together. Ethan had thrown himself in front of her, shielding her from the impact.

Seraphina, who had escaped with only minor injuries, was overwhelmed with guilt as she looked at Ethan lying unconscious after saving her, her eyes glistening with tears.

The steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only proof she had that Ethan was still alive. His eyelids fluttered slightly, and her breath instantly caught in her throat.

She immediately leaned closer, as if his face was the only thing left in her world. "Ethan?"

The deep blue eyes she had loved for four years slowly opened. When he looked at her, she froze.

The expression in Ethan's eyes was one Seraphina had never seen before—cold and distant. He blinked, his gaze sweeping over her face with a wary curiosity that made her stomach clench painfully.

"Ethan, it's me," she whispered, her voice trembling.

He frowned, a faint crease appearing between his brows. Suddenly, he pulled his hand from hers, and the loss of that touch hit her heart like a hammer. "Who are you?"

The three words hung in the air, sharp and heavy, like an icicle piercing straight through her heart. Before she could react, the door opened and Dr. Adrian Walsh walked in, looking at her sympathetically.

"Mr. Beaumont, it's good to see you're awake," Dr. Walsh said as he stepped to the bedside and shone a small flashlight into Ethan's eyes.

A few minutes later, Dr. Walsh turned to her with regret written across his face. "It appears the impact caused retrograde amnesia. He can't remember anything from before the accident. This may be temporary, or it may... never return. At this point, we simply don't know."

Every word felt like a nail being hammered into the unspoken words lodged in Seraphina's throat. Four years. Four years of a secret and passionate relationship, hidden from his powerful family and the ever-watchful media.

At that moment, Ethan's assistant, Mark Foster, walked in, his expression carefully neutral. He politely nodded to Seraphina before turning all of his attention to Ethan and immediately beginning to discuss stock prices and board meetings. She was completely ignored, left standing in the corner of the room like an insignificant decoration.

After Mark left, she refused to give up and sat by Ethan's bedside, her voice low and urgent as she recounted their shared memories: their first date at that tiny Italian restaurant in the West Village; the rainy Sunday they spent assembling an absurdly complicated piece of Swedish furniture together; the way he used to hold her gently at night.

He listened, but the impatience on his face became increasingly obvious, his lips pressed together and his jaw tightening. Finally, he interrupted her, irritation filling his voice.

"Miss, I don't know who you are, and honestly, these stories are giving me a headache. Please leave."

The word "Miss" hurt Seraphina more than a slap ever could. She stared at Ethan in disbelief. She had never seen his eyes look so cold, so completely devoid of emotion.

Her eyes burned with tears, but she forced herself not to let them fall. He was sick. This wasn't the real him.

"Okay," she whispered hoarsely. "You need to rest. I'll... I'll go get you some water."

She stood up numbly and stepped out of the room to catch her breath. In the hallway, she searched through her bag for her wallet, only to realize with frustration that she had left it on the sofa in his room.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, then turned back. The heavy door was slightly ajar, and she gently pushed it open, afraid of disturbing him.

But he was awake, and he was on the phone. His voice had lost all traces of weakness and confusion, becoming sharp and clear.

"Baby, don't worry. Everything is going according to plan," he said, followed by a low, intimate chuckle she knew all too well. "The doctor is a family friend. He played his part perfectly."

Seraphina froze in the doorway, one hand still resting on the handle. Her heart pounded wildly, like a frantic bird trapped in a cage, slamming itself against her ribs.

A soft female voice came through the phone. It was Tiffany, one of the models she had seen with him at parties before. She giggled. "What about Seraphina? Did she believe it?"

Ethan let out a cold, dismissive laugh. "Of course she did. She bought it completely. She's probably standing in the hallway right now thinking her world has fallen apart. Honestly, it's the perfect excuse to finally get rid of her."

The sky hadn't fallen, but her world had shattered. The air in her lungs felt like shards of glass, cutting her from the inside out. Four years of her life—loving him, sacrificing her promising career as an architect, becoming his shadow and his secret support behind the scenes—had all been a lie. She wasn't the love of his life. She was a problem he needed to solve, a burden he needed a "perfect excuse" to discard.

She took a deep, ragged breath. Then another. Slowly, she forced her expression back under control and pushed the door fully open.

Ethan looked up sharply and immediately ended the call, putting on a confused expression as if nothing had happened.

To Seraphina, Ethan's performance was flawless.

Seraphina walked to his bedside, unable to meet his eyes for a moment as the tangled mess in her mind slowly condensed into a single, clear thought.

"Ethan," she said, her voice unnaturally calm. "We're breaking up."

He stared at her, his jaw nearly dropping. He had expected tears, pleading, hysteria. What he hadn't expected was a quiet and decisive ending like this. An emotion—annoyance, confusion—flashed across his face before he quickly concealed it. He didn't like this feeling of losing control.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to find a crack in her composure, but he found nothing.

"You should get some rest," she added, her voice as cold and still as a frozen lake. "I won't bother you again."

She turned away, her back straight and her steps steady as she walked out without looking back.

The door clicked shut behind her, and Ethan immediately grabbed his phone and sent a text to Mark: "Find out what she's up to. Keep an eye on her. I want to know what game she's playing."

He was convinced this was simply her latest strategy, an attempt to lure him back by pretending to let go.

In the hallway, Seraphina reached the corner before her legs finally gave out beneath her. She slid down the cold wall and sank to the floor, her body trembling uncontrollably. The pain was real and overwhelming, like a massive stone pressing against her chest and stealing her breath away. But she didn't cry. Betrayal had dragged her emotions into a vast whirlpool of suffering, and she had long since run out of tears.