I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 101 - 102 Publicity, the Wrong Kind

Chapter 101: Chapter 102 Publicity, the Wrong Kind

Ashton walked down the hallway.

Loose black button-down, matching trousers, sleeves pushed up to the elbow.

Nothing flashy, but you couldn’t miss him.

He had a beige cashmere wrap tossed over one arm, which he draped over my shoulders.

Then he took my hands and rubbed them between his palms. His fingers were warm.

‘You’re freezing. Why didn’t you wear something warmer?’

‘I’m fine.’ I pulled the wrap closer and gave him a quick smile. ‘Just wanted to get some air.’

‘Doctor ordered bed rest. Come on.’

‘Alright.’ I took his offered arm.

‘Hey!’ Rhys, who’d been ignored until now, finally piped up.

Ashton spared him a glance.

Rhys backed up half a step, instinctively.

Ashton said, flat: ‘If I hear you running your mouth about me or my wife again, you won’t just be spending three days in holding.’

Rhys tried to put up a brave front. ‘I didn’t say anything.’

‘Was it or wasn’t it you who called me “fake” a moment ago?’ Ashton jogged his memory. ‘Actions have consequences. So do words. You’ve already got a police record. Do you want to add to it?’

Rhys flinched. His shoulders jerked.

He was probably thinking about what happened the last time he crossed swords with Ashton.

‘Did you hear me?’ Ashton asked.

Rhys didn’t want to answer. I could see it in the way his eyelids twitched and his jaw tightened.

But Ashton stared straight at him, and so far, I’d yet to meet someone who could hold out under that stare of his for longer than a minute—self included.

Rhys gave in.

‘Got it,’ he muttered.

‘Good.’ Ashton turned. ‘Come on. Let’s go.’

I beamed at him. ‘Okay.’

My phone pinged with a sharp ding. I checked the notification, glanced up, grinned at Rhys.

‘Well, would you look at that. Something nice for once.’

Rhys frowned. ‘What?’

I held up my phone. ‘Just got a message from my lawyer. Court’s accepted the case. You’ll be getting your summons soon. Might want to check your mailbox.’

‘What summons? What lawyer?’

‘You’ll know soon enough.’

Rhys looked like he wanted to stop me to ask for more, but one look at Ashton and he backed off.

Behind us, I heard Catherine asking Rhys, ‘Rhys, darling, I’m so happy! So when’s the wedding?’

‘What wedding?’

‘You said you were gonna marry me.’

‘When the fuck did I say that?’

‘Just now. In the hallway. You said...’

The lift door closed.

‘Bored?’ Ashton asked.

‘Sort of. I came out for some air and ran into them in the hallway,’ I explained. Didn’t want him thinking I was deliberately seeking Rhys out. ‘Can I be discharged?’

‘Doctor recommends staying a couple more days, for observation.’

‘I feel fine.’

‘It’s just in case.’ His tone was soft, but there was an edge of irrefutability to it.

I shrugged. ‘Fine. Could you ask Geoffrey to bring me my tablet? The one with the MatrixGold icon on the screen.’

‘Sure.’

That seemed to sum up all available topics of conversation.

Silence lasted till I was back in bed, resuming my role of the invalid.

Ashton asked, ‘Catherine’s pregnant?’

‘You heard?’ I was amazed. ‘You must have the hearing of a bat if you caught that from two floors up.’

His lips twitched. ‘I glimpsed the pregnancy report in her hand. She wasn’t exactly trying to hide it.’

I grinned. ‘Yeah, she is.’

‘Rhys doesn’t look too thrilled.’

‘He’s not.’ I added, ‘But they are getting married. At least, that’s what Rhys said. Even wanted to invite me to the wedding.’

‘And you said...’

‘No, of course. I don’t want to waste money on the gift, nor the time, which could be more productively spent elsewhere, like watching paint dry.’

Ashton looked thoughtful.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘Nothing.’

I squinted at him, sceptical.

I couldn’t claim to understand the man inside out based on our month-long acquaintanceship, but I’d become familiar with a certain glint in his eyes that warned of a scheme afoot.

And I wasn’t wrong.

That evening, Yvaine came to visit.

She brought flowers, snacks, and a Trenta-sized serving of gossip.

‘Rhys made it to the financial news.’

‘What? How’d that happen?’ I’d always thought if Rhys ever appeared in the news, it’d be the society pages—or, fingers crossed, the police ‘wanted’ list.

Yvaine tapped on her tablet and spun the screen towards me.

The headline grabbed my attention:

[Granger Development Group heir knocks up socialite, still no wedding in sight]

Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who ran into Rhys and Catherine at the hospital.

Someone else, armed with a high-def camera, had captured the scene faithfully.

No sound, of course, but their body language told the story.

That, plus the pregnancy report Catherine was waving around like a flag, backed up the headline.

‘Unnamed sources’ also confirmed that there was no sign of an engagement between Rhys and his latest pregnant girlfriend, let alone a wedding.

The article wrapped with a thinly veiled but strongly worded jab at Rhys’s inability to ‘step up’, raising concerns about his suitability to helm such a large company.

‘“After all, if he can’t even do right by the woman he supposedly loves, what about the thousands of GDG employees counting on him as CEO and the public investors who rely on his leadership?”’

Yvaine read the final paragraph in a mock-serious TV anchor voice, then chuckled. ‘I bet his dad’s feeling real smug about that decision to hand over the reins to Rhys now.’

‘I wonder who leaked the story,’ I mused.

‘I kinda thought it was you.’

‘Why me?’

‘You’re in the same hospital.’

‘I happened to leave my telephoto lens at home. Even if I took the pics, I wouldn’t know a reporter to leak them to.’

‘H’m.’ Yvaine gave the puzzle two seconds’ thought and gave it up. ‘Doesn’t matter who did it. Whoever it was clearly hates Rhys’s or Catherine’s guts. That’s good enough for me.’

By morning, finance blogs had picked up the story. Hashtags were trending.

Even the city’s serious daily ran a brief mention.

Granger Development Group was a big name, after all, and shareholders were foaming at the mouth.

‘Was it you?’ I asked Ashton as he brought breakfast, holding up the news.

‘Hospital hallway’s a public place. Plenty of people come and go. Anyone could’ve taken the photos.’

‘That’s an evasive answer.’

He looked straight at me. ‘Would you want it to be me?’

I gave it a moment’s thought, then shrugged. ‘Doesn’t really matter to me.’

After all, it had nothing to do with me.

Or so I thought.