I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 130 - 131 Trap

Chapter 130: Chapter 131 Trap

Miss Davis taught literature at Westbridge Prep when I was there.

Fresh out of uni, looked about twenty. Always wore long white dresses. Thick brown braids. Smelled like toner and rosemary. Carried a canvas tote with busted straps and wrote in red pen, not green like the others.

She wasn’t scared of Isobel Brooke.

The other teachers acted like they couldn’t see a girl getting shoved into lockers. Miss Davis dragged Isobel into her office every other week and gave her a talking-to.

It didn’t stop everything, but it kept Isobel on a shorter leash.

When I reported Isobel to the police, the school freaked.

Only one teacher backed me up.

The rest kept their mouths shut and stuck to the script: ‘Just kids being kids.’

The case was dropped after my parents took the Brookes’ money.

Miss Davis left a month later.

Rumour said she’d been fired.

I never saw her again.

After uni, I tried to track her down.

But Davis was a common surname, and there were simply too many of them online.

Caroline’s voice notes kept going.

‘She looks exactly the same. Not a single wrinkle. Skin’s still glowing. We were just talking about you. She said you turned out impressive!’

I stared at the lift doors. Something felt off.

Back in the old days, Caroline barely said two words to Miss Davis. Called her ‘stubborn’ behind her back. Said she was wasting her time sticking up for the wrong kids.

Now she was all chatty and warm? Weird.

I typed out a quick reply: [Where did you run into her?]

Another voice note dropped instantly. ‘At the mall. We were shopping and bumped into her. She’s still with me now.’

A pause. Then another message landed.

I hit play.

This one wasn’t Caroline.

‘Hi Mirabelle. I’m with your mum now. It’s been years. Let’s catch up over dinner tonight? I’m only in Skyline for a couple days.’

I stopped walking. Hit replay.

It was definitely her.

Same voice I used to hear from the back row, reading out ‘Jane Eyre’ to us. Warm, even.

I hadn’t heard it in years, but it still had that same calm pressure, like nothing around it could shake it loose.

Before I could think of what to say, another message dropped.

‘You heard that, right? Miss Davis wants to see you. Are you free tonight? I’ll book the place.’

I answered immediately: [Free.]

I wanted to see Miss Davis.

Also, it was time to ask Caroline whether she knew Catherine wasn’t her biological daughter.

Like I expected, the Grangers had kept a tight lid on the situation. No mention of Catherine anywhere. The wedding cancellation was being blamed on some hotel emergency.

Still, it was hard to believe Clive or Rhys hadn’t already lost it and confronted Caroline and Franklin directly.

She took a few minutes, then sent back: [Booked it. 8 p.m. at The Corner Table, Room 108.]

[Got it.]

I shoved my phone into my bag and headed home.

I needed to change.

I got in at half six. As I kicked off my shoes in the foyer, I called out, ‘Geoffrey, Ashton and I won’t be home tonight. Skip dinner prep.’

‘Noted, Mrs Laurent.’

I darted upstairs, took a quick shower, and did a full face in twelve minutes flat. Went for the grey tweed dress with the square neckline and fitted waist.

At seven thirty, I was ready. The Corner Table was about half an hour across town, so I had Geoffrey call the car.

The driver took a side route. We pulled up at seven fifty.

I got out and headed through the glass doors.

Despite the name, The Corner Table wasn’t a diner.

Crystal lighting, slate floors, velvet walls, the whole thing smelled like bergamot and polished wood.

I’d barely stepped in when the maître d’ approached me. ‘Good evening, miss, do you have a reservation?’

‘Mira?’ Someone on my left spoke.

I turned. ‘Ha, didn’t expect to see you here.’

Ashton wore black. His tie was loosened. There was a faint scent of vetiver when he stepped closer.

‘Yeah. Meeting a few people for dinner.’ He looked relaxed. ‘We can head home together after, if you want.’

‘Sure.’

He tipped his chin. ‘Which room?’

‘108.’ I glanced at my phone. ‘I’m running late. Catch you later.’

I smiled at him, then followed the waiter down the corridor.

Just outside Room 108, I paused and checked my reflection in my phone screen. Adjusted a loose strand. Straightened my back.

Then I stepped in.

There was no Caroline.

No Miss Davis.

Three men were seated.

One on the left was Franklin, arms folded, leaning back.

Cousin Preston sat on the right, straight-backed and smug.

The one at the centre I’d never seen in my life.

Thick neck, pink face, thinning blond hair slicked straight back. His eyes tracked me in a way that put my back up immediately.

I didn’t step inside.

‘Where’s Miss Davis?’

Preston got up and reached for my arm. ‘She’s on her way. Running late. Come, sit.’

He tried to steer me in.

I pulled away. ‘You people pulling another stunt?’

‘No stunt,’ Preston said. He grabbed my shoulder and forced me down into the chair beside the fat stranger. ‘We’ve invited Mr Maxwell for dinner. Sit with him.’

He pressed down. Hard.

I drove my elbow straight into his stomach.

He gasped.

I stood.

‘You dragged me here to meet a fucking creep?’ I snapped. ‘You said Miss Davis was here.’

I turned and walked towards the door.

‘You’re not going anywhere,’ Franklin growled. He hauled a chair in front of me, blocking the path. ‘Sit down.’

I didn’t move.

The man called Maxwell shifted in his seat, his belt digging into his gut, his stare fixed on my chest.

If I wanted out, I’d have to go through all three men.

I scanned the room.

No windows.

Only one way out.