I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 139 - 140 Hard to Read

Chapter 139: Chapter 140 Hard to Read

‘That money was yours the moment I gave it to you,’ Ashton said. ‘But if it makes you feel uneasy, you could give me part of the studio in return. Forty-nine per cent?’

I considered it. ‘Alright.’

His voice dropped. ‘If we’re talking share transfers, we’ll need a contract. I’ll get someone on it.’

‘We’re going full corporate, huh? Fine. Use your legal team.’

‘Will do.’

Silence settled in.

I watched a droplet of condensation roll down the side of my glass and disappear into the tablecloth.

He didn’t check his phone. Just kept looking out the window, posture still, expression unreadable.

I cleared my throat. ‘So... any update on Maxwell?’

‘Dismissed. Arrested. Under internal review for further sanctions. Legal’s working on it.’

‘Was anyone else involved?’

‘Not that we know of.’ He paused, then added, ‘If there are, we’ll find them.’

I nodded, fiddled with the stem of my glass. ‘Right. Makes sense.’

He didn’t say anything back.

‘Sorry. I wasn’t trying to imply anything. It’s just—never mind.’

He glanced over. ‘You weren’t.’

Another pause.

‘Studio’s coming along,’ I offered. ‘Savannah cried when I quit. One single tear. She dabbed it dramatically with a tissue. I almost stayed out of guilt.’

His mouth twitched. Not quite a smile.

‘I’m still stuck on the name, though. I’ve gone through fifty options and none of them feel right.’

He gave me a few suggestions, all of which were solid.

I promised I’d think it over.

He nodded, then went quiet again. Not tense. Just... still.

Yvaine had called him scary.

I hadn’t agreed. Not really.

But I understood what she meant.

He wasn’t cold. Just... closed.

Hard to read, harder to get close to.

With Rhys, back in my hopeless fangirl days, I never hesitated.

I’d straight-up asked him what kind of coffee he liked, what trainers he wore, what toothpaste brand he preferred.

But with Ashton, asking what he liked to eat felt... frivolous, like I was wasting his time.

Still, I tried.

‘Do you like seafood?’ I asked.

‘Why?’

‘Just wondering.’

‘It’s fine. Depends on the prep.’

‘Okay. And coffee or tea?’

A beat. ‘Black coffee. No sugar.’

‘So not a fan of the little oat milk lattes with foam hearts?’

His brow twitched. ‘Not particularly.’

I gave a small laugh. ‘Figures.’

He tilted his head. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Nothing. Just... no foam hearts. Got it.’

Another stretch of silence passed.

Not uncomfortable, exactly.

Just a bit off-kilter.

Like we were circling each other in a room with too much space.

Before I realised it, the plates were cleared.

The car was already waiting outside.

We got in.

The second the gate came into view, I spotted someone standing by the entrance.

Tall frame, grey blazer, arms stiff at his sides, gut hanging over the belt.

I leaned forward, squinting.

Franklin.

I’d ignored all his calls this week.

He’d changed his number, rung every day, left voicemails, even sent a few half-arsed texts.

I’d blocked the new number.

Still, he’d found me.

I climbed out of the car.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’

He held up two gift boxes, one in each hand, like they were some kind of peace treaty.

I didn’t touch them.

He grinned. ‘Thought I’d drop these off. Just wanted to talk.’

I didn’t answer.

I knew he’d tried calling Nyx Collective first. Found out I hadn’t shown up in days.

No one had told him where my new studio was, which meant he’d tried the next best thing—LGH headquarters.

I could picture it: Franklin shouting at the girl behind reception, throwing the word ‘your boss’s father-in-law’ around like it meant something, until security dragged him out.

Any reasonable person would’ve taken the hint. Walked away.

But Franklin wasn’t reasonable.

‘What do you want?’ I didn’t move to let him in.

‘Mirabelle.’ He sounded hurt. ‘Can’t I stop by without an agenda?’

I stared at his face and felt my jaw tighten.

‘Didn’t spend long enough at the station, did you? Couple more nights in holding and maybe you’d be too busy to stalk me.’

To his credit, he didn’t flinch. That plastic smile slid right back on.

‘Even while I was in there, I kept thinking about you. Weather’s turning, you know, flu’s going around. Just wanted to make sure you’re staying warm—’

‘Amazing what two nights in a cell can do. Twenty-three years of you pretending I didn’t exist, then suddenly you care if I’ve got a fever.’

He faltered, blinked again. ‘I mean it. I do care.’

‘Save it. I’m not in the mood. What do you want?’

‘I’m just here to see you.’

I crossed my arms. ‘You’re here to kiss Ashton’s arse. Don’t bother.’

His smile cracked.

He glanced past me and spotted Ashton stepping out of the car behind me.

His whole posture changed. He straightened, brushed invisible lint off his blazer, and shoved past me.

‘Ashton!’ he called out, beaming. ‘A fine evening, huh? I just came by to say congratulations. Which are long overdue. Didn’t realise you and Mirabelle were married! If I’d known...’

His grin stretched wider than it had with me, eyes crinkled, voice dripping with phoney warmth.

He shoved the boxes forward.

Ashton’s brows drew together.

Franklin didn’t notice. Or didn’t care.

‘Mirabelle’s always been a bit... private,’ he went on, louder. ‘Not great with people, no close mates, and Rhys... well, that didn’t work out. But now? She’s finally found her match. Warms my heart. I know you’d treat her right.’

I pressed closer to Ashton and hooked my arm through his. ‘Ignore him. Let’s go inside.’

We turned. Took maybe three steps before Franklin started scurrying after us.

‘Mirabelle! I went to all this effort to find you. Can’t you spare ten minutes? Just a cup of coffee. It’s windy out, don’t be so cold.’

I grabbed Ashton’s hand and picked up the pace.

Then Franklin barked behind us: ‘I’m still your father. You can’t dodge me forever. Maybe one day I’ll visit your studio.’

Ashton hesitated. His steps slowed.