I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis novel Chapter 218

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Chapter 218 Connections

I stared at her, then turned to the doctor. “Is she dying or just being dramatic?”

He didn’t look up from the chart. “Her vitals are fine. She fainted from stress. Keep her hydrated and calm, she’ll be alright in a few days.”

Ashton turned towards the door. “Perfect. This room’s just been vacated. Let her recover here.”

He took a call in the hallway.

“You back in Skyline?” Cassian asked.

“Just got in. What’s going on?” Ashton put the call on speakerphone.

“Nothing urgent. Just that Rowan Hale’s still being a pain in the arse. Thank fuck I didn’t sign her.”

“What did she do now?”

I leaned in closer.

“She’s using your name to fish for deals. Made it sound like you two had something going on. Picked up a couple of brand meetings that way, wormed her way onto two prime–time shows. Some PR idiots don’t believe you actually married Mirabelle, and she’s playing it up. Dodges questions, drops hints, lets people connect the dots. Now I’ve got sponsors coming to me asking what your status with her is. She put out a straightforward statement, but behind the scenes she’s working every angle.”

Ashton and I exchanged a glance.

“Do you know which projects she’s chasing?” he asked.

“Roughly. I can get the full list. Either way, don’t worry. I’ll make sure nobody signs her.”

“Don’t.” Ashton paused. “If you’ve got access, tell them to keep negotiating. The deeper, the better.”

There was a second of silence. Then Cassian said, “Are you brain–damaged? You want her out there playing your fake girlfriend in boardrooms? You know how fast that’ll spread?”

“It’s just negotiations. No one’s signing anything.”

Cassian went quiet. Then, after a pause: “Oh, oh, I see. Got it.”

Ashton ended the call and turned to me.

I gave him a thumbs–up.

“I don’t plan to touch her yet,” he explained. “Not until find out what the hell she’s doing around Gwendolyn.”

“Got it.”

Our driver was already waiting by the entrance.

Once we were in the back seat, I figured I’d better get it at of the way before Gwendolyn’s Photoshop festival started doing laps in his head.

“Those pictures were fake,” I said. “Daniel works at my studio. He’s not my type. We’re just friendly.”

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Chapter 218 Connections

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Ashton nodded.

“And I didn’t marry you for your money.”

He reached over and pulled me into his chest. “I know.”

The car rolled on, smooth and steady.

I leaned into him, head tucked under his chin, and found the angle that didn’t crush my ear.

I laughed a little. “We make the perfect bad–guy couple. sent my mum and cousins to jail, and you shipped off your dad to Africa.”

He dropped his mouth to the side of mine and kissed the corner..

“Yeah. The perfect couple,” he murmured.

The back seat was dark, but his eyes stayed on me.

I could feel them even when I couldn’t see them.

We hadn’t stopped moving since we landed from Sunset

It’d been nonstop crisis management, one fire after another.

But right there, crammed into the car with his arm around me, everything just… paused.

Then he tilted my face up and kissed me again. He didn’t stop this time.

By the time we pulled up at the house, my knees were useless.

He carried me all the way upstairs.

I was dropped on the bed without warning.

Before I could suck in a full breath, he was on me again, heavy and close.

His mouth moved fast, not giving me space to think.

I kept meaning to push him off, but my hands didn’t get the message.

I kept pulling him closer instead.

The mattress dipped behind my back.

The sheets smelled like clean cotton and his aftershave,

Everything was familiar this room, this man, the rough sound of his breathing right against my jaw.

My head was spinning, but I didn’t want him to stop.

He was tugging at the buttons on my coat, teeth grazing the edge of my lip.

I felt the fabric shift as he pulled it open, his fingers slipping inside and peeling it oft my shoulders.

Underneath, I had on the cream cardigan I always forgot was that low–cut until it was too late.

His hand slid down the front, tracing the buttons.

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He started working them open, one at a time.

The second one stuck.

I heard him exhale, low and annoyed, before he straightened up on his knees.

I opened my eyes.

He was in front of me, shirtless in seconds.

He stripped without hesitation. Coat, jumper, the lot, tossed in a heap beside the bed.

His skin was flushed, muscles tense, stomach tight.

I stared like an idiot.

Then he caught my hand and brought it to his belt.

The metal clasp was ice–cold.

I flinched and pulled back.

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