I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis novel Chapter 53

Chapter 53 Murdery Look

1 slapped Ashton’s hand before he could get to his phone.

‘Okay, no. Let the cops deal with it. You’ve already gone full Godfather once tonight.”

I wasn’t saying I didn’t want Rhys to suffer.

I did

I just wasn’t willing to risk Ashton catching a charge for it.

When they dragged him off, Rhys already looked half–dead–blood all over his mouth, shirt soaked like something out of a bad

crime doc.

‘Rhys isn’t worth going to prison for,‘ I said to Ashton, in case he got the wrong idea again.

He exhaled heavily. ‘Fine. I’ll leave the police to handle it. How’s your wrist?‘

I rotated my wrist and winced. Damn Rhys and his gym strength.

I didn’t say anything, but Ashton saw the sweat beading at my temple.

‘Right. Hospital. Now.‘

grumbled, ‘It’s not that bad. I’ll live. It’s late. Too much trouble to go to the hospital.‘

‘I’ll drive.‘ His voice left zero room for debate.

I still didn’t move, and he added, ‘What, you waiting for me to carry you?‘

That did it.

I sprang up like my arse was on fire. ‘Nope. I’ve got legs. Watch me use them.‘

He walked ahead, paused like he was thinking about taking my hand, then didn’t.

Downstairs, he slid behind the wheel and drove us to a private hospital minutes away.

I figured he probably played poker with the owner or something, because the second we pulled up, there were nurses and a doctor already waiting outside, clearly expecting us.

The X–ray showed no broken bones, just a nasty soft tissue injury.

Translation: it hurt like hell, but I wouldn’t be needing a titanium wrist anytime soon.

While the doctor dabbed a minty–smelling ointment onto my wrist, Ashton stood behind me.

I couldn’t see his face, but judging by the way the doctor was sweating through his white lab coat like the air con didn’t exist, Ashton was probably looking murdery again.

He pulled out his phone and started walking away. ‘Excuse me.‘

Are you calling your assistant?‘ I craned my neck to look at him.

He paused at the doorway. ‘Why’d you ask?‘

‘If you’re calling to arrange for Rhys to… you know.‘ I glanced at the doctor.

‘Are you telling me not to do it?‘ His voice hardened.

‘No, I’m telling you,.. be discreet. Make sure you don’t get caught.”

He might have smiled. ‘Got it.‘

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Once the doctor finished, we didn’t hang around.

Just a quick wrap–up and we were back in the car.

I could feel the tension rolling off Ashton like heat from a busted aliator.

After a few blocks, he snapped out of it.

Glanced over at me like he’d only just remembered I was there.

‘Rhys isn’t going to let this go,‘ he said. ‘He’s not gonna handle your marriage that well. You can’t stay at Oakwood‘

I stilled a yawn. ‘What? He’s not a serial killer. He got arrested. He back off.‘

Ashton drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. You read the news? People kill their exes all the time now. What if he’s got some undiagnosed psycho streak? You wait until he sets your flat on fire or slashes your tyres, and then what?”

I shivered.

The images of Rhys slapping me in his penthouse over Catherine’snug, of him dragging me down the hallway earlier tonight, slammed right back into my brain.

Maybe Ashton had a point.

‘It’s just… I literally just moved in. Paid three months upfront, can’t get my deposit back. And finding another place is going to be a total nightmare.”

We stopped at a red light.

Ashton turned to me, face smooth, voice dipped in just enough honey to raise suspicions. ‘You could move in with me.‘

I blinked. ‘Move in with you?‘

I wasn’t sure if he was kidding or just temporarily lost his mind.

This was a contract marriage.

No feelings, no funny business, and definitely no playing house.

The plan was to stay out of each other’s way until the divorce.

“That’s… probably not a great idea,‘ I said slowly, trying to tell him it was a stupid, stupid idea without using the actual words.

He caught the look I shot him and let out a dry laugh.

‘Relax. I’m not trying anything. It’s just safer. And I’m not exactly emotionally invested in this relationship, so there’s zero chance I’ll suddenly fall for you or whatever.‘

Charming.

But honestly, the more indifferent he sounded, the more reassured I felt.

A man too cold to flirt was a man who wouldn’t try to get into my bed.

Plus, wasn’t he still saving himself for his precious lost love?

Living with him might just be glorified flat–sharing.

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