I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis novel Chapter 191

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Chapter 191 Biggest Winners

Chapter 191 Biggest Winner

“So whoever took that photo wanted people to think something was going on between you and her,” I said.

“Exactly.” He let out a breath, grabbed my other hand, and pulled me closer. “So you believe me?”

“I do.”

I didn’t know which of us felt more relieved, me or him.

His shoulders relaxed.

The stabbing pain in my chest eased.

I leaned back to look at him. “Whoever took that shot cropped it deliberately and pushed it online. What were they aiming for?!”

His mouth set hard. “Whoever it was knew I wasn’t with her. They posted that frame to stir things up on purpose.”

“It didn’t take off,” I said. “There’s nothing online. No trending tags, no press on Rowan today.”

He frowned. “Then how did you see it?”

“Her fans. Someone shared it with me.”

We stared at each other.

No one said it, but we were thinking the same thing.

If someone had traced Ashton’s identity and noticed Rowan hanging around him, she could spin it.

Leverage the connection, raise her profile.

The biggest winner here would be Rowan.

But if she was behind it, why was there no traction?

No fake dating headlines, no PR spin?

Before either of us could sort through the logic, his phone lit up on the table.

Unknown number.

Ashton made no move to answer it.

“You should probably pick up,” I said. “Could be related to what we’re talking about.”

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Chapter 191 Biggest Winners

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He hit answer, then put the call on speaker.

“Ashton.” A woman’s voice. Soft, breathy, a little rushed.

“Rowan,” he mouthed the word to me.

“I asked Casimir for your number. I need to explain something. Someone took photos of us outside The Atlas Room last night. I only found out this afternoon. I’ve already paid to suppress them. It’s probably paparazzi. Someone must’ve heard I’m back in Skyline. I don’t want you to think I had anything to do with it. I swear I didn’t. I’ve sorted it. If you haven’t seen the photo, don’t look. If you have, don’t read into it. It was just dinner. We’re friends. That’s all. I have no idea how the shot came out that suggestive. Total accident.”

Rowan sounded nervous but honest.

When Ashton didn’t reply, she laughed, awkward and short. “You’ve seen the photo, haven’t you? You don’t think I set it up, do you?”

“Got it.” He hung up.

He looked at me.

I looked right back.

“If she was behind it,” I said, “why bother stopping it from spreading?”

The photo never hit the internet.

Daniel had sent it to me directly, but I couldn’t find a single copy online–not even on sketchy

tabloid sites.

What was the photographer after?

Blackmail, maybe.

Cash from Rowan?

I shrugged. “Anyway, now that it’s cleared up, I guess it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Nor me,” Ashton added.

His eyes dropped to the table, where the cake sat with one slice missing. “You bought cake today?”

Now that the candlelight dinner plans were dead there was no point explaining it was meant to be part of the setup.

I kept my voice light. “Yvaine had leftovers. She gave me one.”

He picked up the spoon and helped himself. “Not bad.”

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Chapter 191 Biggest Winners

His stomach growled. Loud.

We both heard it.

“You haven’t eaten?” I asked.

“I came straight from the clinic. Didn’t have time”

“I saved dinner.” I nudged him towards the table

The food was still there, mostly untouched.

“It’s gone cold. I’ll heat it up.”

“Don’t bother.” He caught my wrist before I turned. “It’s fine as it is.”

He sat down and started eating.

I opened my mouth, about to tell him I cooked everything myself. Well, with help.

He spoke first. “It’s Carmen’s day off?”

“No. Why?”

“Doesn’t taste like her usual cooking.”

“Do you like it?”

“The duck’s a bit rubbery, and the cherry sauce is far too sweet.”

“Oh.”

Every smug word I’d been about to say collapsed in my throat and sat there, stuck.

“I’m going upstairs.”

I left the dining room.

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The second the bedroom door shut behind me, I stripped out of my clothes, kicked them across the floor, and headed for the shower.

My finger throbbed as I turned on the water.

I glanced down and saw the small blister, red and raw at the edge.

I hissed through my teeth.

“Idiot,” I muttered. “Absolute idiot.”

I wasn’t a chef. I’d barely mastered boiling eggs without supervision.

What exactly had possessed me to think I could pull off a seared duck breast and homemade

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