I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis novel Chapter 9

Chapter 9 Let’s Make a Deal

I stopped outside his door, took a deep breath like I was about to skydive without a parachute, and knocked.

No going back now. Not unless I fancied throwing myself down the stairwell.

The door swung open almost immediately, leaving me zero time to panic or bolt.

There he was—in a suit. A proper one. Not the kind you wear for a Zoom meeting or to make your ex jealous on I*******m, but the sort that whispered ‘money’ and ‘I don’t queue for anything, ever.’

He looked like he was on his way out.

Maybe a date.

Probably with someone tall, elegant, and dangerously immune to carbs.

Regret made a swift U-turn in my gut, and I took a tiny step back, already rethinking everything.

But then he gestured for me to wait. He was on the phone, looking very much like a man who closed deals before breakfast. He held up a hand, mouthed ‘one second’, then pointed inside.

I stepped into his flat, trying not to look too nosy while absolutely snooping.

It was about the same size and layout as mine, but the vibe was all different.

Where mine screamed ‘early-twenties chaos with a side of IKEA regrets’, his felt sleek. Understated. Expensive in that annoying way where you knew each item had a brand name that required a six-month waitlist and a blood oath.

Still, it didn’t feel lived-in. No clutter, no mess, no personality. More hotel suite than home.

Either he’d just moved in like I suspected, or he barely slept here. Which, fair enough. He didn’t look like the type who needed more than four hours of sleep or any kind of throw cushion.

Before I could finish my impromptu Cribs tour, he ended the call and turned to me, eyebrow raised in question.

Right. Time to stop gawping.

I pulled out the cheque I’d written and held it out.

‘For the shirt,’ I said. “The one I sort of shredded during our, uh, you know… last time.’

He looked at the cheque. ‘I don’t need it.’

‘I know. But I do. Need to give it, I mean.’ I set it on his glass coffee table.

He didn’t reply. And I suddenly had absolutely no idea what to do with my limbs. My arms were weird. My legs were traitors. The silence swelled between us like a balloon full of awkward.

Then he moved closer.

Just a step. Barely even that. But it was enough.

‘What’s the real reason you came?’

I froze. Every muscle in my body tensed.

Being this close, I was forcibly reminded of just how tall he was-and how much he radiated that very specific, very male sort of danger. That raw, unfiltered, primal energy that made my instincts twitch like I was standing in front of something wild and

untamed.

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