I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 108 - 109 Wall of Shame

Chapter 108: Chapter 109 Wall of Shame

Days passed, and good things just kept coming.

The Isobel Brooke case had barely been wrapped up when Finn dropped the next bombshell: Rhys’s defamation case was going to trial soon.

I’d been fuming about it for weeks, but after a month of waiting, my anger had dulled to a simmer.

I handed the whole thing over to Finn and wasn’t about to waste my time showing up to court.

With the LGH lawyer team on his side, Finn had the case wrapped up with hardly any effort.

In the end, the court ruled in my favour. Rhys had to pay me twenty grand and issue a public apology.

I heard from Finn that Rhys, apparently too busy planning his wedding to bother showing up, had sent his lawyer instead.

And he dragged his feet on the apology. I knew what he was thinking: he believed if he buried his head in the sand long enough, the whole thing would just go away.

But Finn and team hounded him daily, threatening to take him back to court for refusing to comply with the judgment.

In the end, Rhys had no choice. He grudgingly posted an apology to his old chat groups and his social media.

What exactly he posted, I never saw. I’d long deleted him from my life.

It was Yvaine who’d sent me the screenshots.

She laughed for at least ten minutes when she called.

‘I checked,’ she said, still cackling. ‘He posted at two o’clock in the morning and took it down five minutes after it went up. Probably thought no one would see it. Idiot. I screenshot everything. And guess what? I’m reposting it everywhere. It’s going to be permanent. A whole Rhys Granger wall of shame.’

‘I take my hat off to you.’ Not everyone had the dedication to stay past three am just to get the drop on an enemy.

‘You saw his wedding announcement, right?’ Yvaine snorted, wide awake. ‘Pure PR damage control. “See? I’m not a deadbeat, I’m a family man.” Cute. But it won’t work.’

‘Helps a little. At least to calm the press.’

‘Helps jack shit. GDG’s stock still tanked. And stocks don’t bounce back because he suddenly remembers how to propose. People don’t forget scandal that fast. Especially when I’m the one keeping it alive.’

‘He must be fuming.’

‘Oh, he’s probably chucking furniture. My post’s been up twenty minutes and already got reposted hundreds of times. He’s probably losing his mind trying to find out who reposted it.’

I pictured him standing in his penthouse, veins popping, screaming at his phone while some poor assistant tapped furiously at the keyboard.

The image gave me a weird amount of peace.

‘Thanks, Yvaine. Seriously.’

‘Don’t thank me. Wasn’t just me. I had help.’

‘From who?’

She paused, and I could practically hear the smirk stretch across her face. ‘Why don’t you ask your husband?’

I blinked. ‘What did Ashton do?’

‘Beats me,’ she said breezily. ‘But no way my post got this kind of traction on my own. I mean, I’m popular, sure, but most of my stuff gets, what, two, three dozen likes and reposts? Mostly from cousins and friends.’

She trailed off, fingers tapping at her screen.

‘Wait a sec... I’m looking at a repost count over two thousand. And climbing. That’s definitely not me, babe. That’s someone with serious reach. Or serious money.’

‘What makes you think it’s Ashton?’

Yvaine laughed, short and smug. ‘What makes you think it’s not? Who else fits the criteria? Who else hates Rhys almost as much as we do, and just so happens to have a media team and endless resources?’

I opened my mouth, then closed it again.

She had a point.

‘Lunch tomorrow?’ she said.

‘Let’s make it Saturday.’

‘Got it. You’re paying.’ She hung up.

I stared at my bedroom door. Ashton was two doors down, probably still awake.

I should thank him. Whatever he’d done, it worked.

But he didn’t seem to like it when I thanked him.

And it was late anyway.

I pulled open my sketchbook, flipped to a fresh page.

He didn’t need anything, but maybe I could make him something.

A pair of cufflinks, maybe. Or a tie pin.

***

It was around lunchtime when Finn called.

He started with small talk—asked how I was, how things were going—then hesitated.

‘Would you be interested in grabbing a bite to eat?’

Before I could say no, he rushed on, ‘Thought we should celebrate the case being wrapped up. My office is nearby. Would be nice to catch up.’

‘Sure. My treat.’

We met at a small café not far from Nyx Collective. It had old wooden booths, a handwritten chalkboard menu, and the faint smell of roasted tomatoes and burnt sugar.

We spent most of the meal reminiscing about uni.

Finn kept circling something. I caught him watching me more than once, his expression flickering between hesitant and oddly serious, like he was working up to something awkward.

I ran through possibilities.

Had I forgotten to pay his legal fees?

After the first two consults, LGH took over, and Hannah assured me everything was redirected through their accounts.

Still, I made a mental note to double-check with her.

It wasn’t like Ashton’s team to miss a step. His people were terrifyingly competent.

Over dessert, Finn picked at his cheesecake, looked at me, looked down at the cake, looked at me again, his fork drawing weird vertical arcs in the air.

He reminded me of a pangolin, paws tucked together like he had something to confess.

But if he wasn’t ready to say whatever it was he wanted to say, I wasn’t going to push.

We fought over the bill, both reaching like T-Rexes.

I won.

The weather was perfect for a walk, sunny but breezy enough not to sweat through my blouse.

‘My office is just down the street,’ Finn said. ‘There’s a coffee place next door. Best cold brew in a ten-block radius.’

‘Lead on.’ I shook off the food coma.

A car tore past, far too fast for the narrow street.

‘Look out!’

Finn grabbed me around the waist, yanking me back just before I stepped off the kerb.