I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 153 - 154 Disqualified

Chapter 153: Chapter 154 Disqualified

Yvaine and I had breakfast at her shop, then I headed into my studio to get things ready for the day.

When the call came, I was excited.

‘Miss Vance, this is Nathan Liddicoat from the organising committee of the Aureate Awards.’

‘Good morning.’

I’d just passed the preliminaries and qualified as an independent designer.

I assumed he was calling to confirm the next round.

‘We regret to inform you that you’ve been disqualified from the competition.’

‘Sorry—what?’ I sat up straighter. ‘Could you say that again?’

He did.

‘Why? Was there an issue with my submission? I can—’

‘There’s nothing wrong with your design,’ he said. His tone was stiff, with a hint of discomfort. ‘But someone reported you.’

‘Reported me for what?’

‘There’ve been some negative posts about your studio. Allegations that you turn customers away at the door and only work with celebrities who can pay premium fees.’

‘That’s absolute bullshit.’ I kept my voice steady, but it took effort. ‘This is about Harper Foster, isn’t it? That video was fake. She set the whole thing up—’

‘Regardless, the fact is you’ve worked with Miss Octavia Grey but not Miss Foster. One’s a major star, the other’s still unknown. I’m not making assumptions, but—’

‘Sounds like you are,’ I cut in, cold.

He cleared his throat. ‘We’ve had multiple complaints. Different names, different emails. And you understand, our sponsors—major brands—are sensitive to controversy. They want winners they can market, not ones caught up in online backlash. I’m sorry. Maybe you can apply again in three years.’

The line went dead.

I stared at the phone, listening to the empty tone in my ear.

I had no idea how long I sat there.

The room was silent, the air still.

Then shouting from across the street snapped me out of it.

I stood up stiffly, crossed to the window.

Outside, a crowd had gathered in front of Sugar & Whim.

Mostly girls. All of them loud, angry, shoving forward.

I ran.

The girls were holding up phones, filming, streaming, yelling over each other.

‘That’s her! That’s the one who slapped Harper! Her name’s Yvaine Carlisle. She got Harper fired!’

The shouting didn’t stop.

They kept filming Yvaine like she was a zoo exhibit.

One of them panned her camera across the cake displays, then zoomed in on Yvaine’s face.

The rest packed in behind, elbowing past tables, shoving out regulars.

Boxes tipped over.

One girl knocked over a tray of mini meringues and didn’t even glance down.

Yvaine tried talking. ‘I had nothing to do with her job.’

They didn’t care.

No one listened.

Dozens of them squeezed inside, loud, hot, hysterical.

Yvaine was cornered by the counter, trapped.

She shouted for her staff to call the police.

That made it worse.

They surged forward again, pushed her back into the corner.

Phones still filming.

More girls pushed through the door.

One of them stood on a chair.

I shoved through the crowd.

A girl elbowed my ribs.

Another one stepped on my foot.

I finally got in front of Yvaine.

She looked boxed in, flushed, breathing hard, shoulder pressed against the espresso machine.

I stood in front of her.

‘What exactly are you trying to do here?’ I said loudly. ‘All of you. You think this is justice? Ganging up on a woman?’

One of them snapped back, ‘We’re not touching her. We’re just speaking out for Harper!’

‘She lost her job because of this woman,’ another shouted. ‘She had a script lined up and now it’s gone!’

‘This bitch thinks she’s untouchable. Just because she’s got money and connections—’

‘She tried to blacklist Harper!’

‘She stole Harper’s man, and now she’s bitter she didn’t win!’

‘Even if Harper’s blacklisted, the truth has to come out! Everyone, keep your livestreams running! Let the whole city see what she’s really like!’

I looked around at the cameras.

They were all pointed at us.

Faces flushed. Eyes shining like they were high off their own outrage.

They were out for blood.

Yvaine kept trying. ‘I had nothing to do with the blacklisting. Go ask her agency. And I wasn’t fighting her for a man. That’s not what this is.’

‘You’re lying!’ someone shrieked. ‘You’ve got money and connections. Harper’s just a normal girl. She never stood a chance against someone like you!’

The circle around us kept tightening.

One girl in front had her camera angled inches from Yvaine’s face.

I clenched my teeth and shoved down the urge to yell.

No good screaming at a mob.

‘Think for a second,’ I said, loud enough to cut through the noise. ‘You’re being used. None of you know if she was blacklisted. None of you saw a damn script. The only person who knows the full story is Harper, and she sent all of you here to make a scene while she sits safe at home. If someone gets arrested today, it’s not going to be her. It’ll be you. And that record? That sticks.’

My mouth was dry.

My voice cracked a little on the last line.

A few of them hesitated, fidgeting, glancing around.

Then a girl behind them shouted, ‘Don’t listen to her! She’s twisting everything! She’s trying to make Harper look bad!’

‘We’re not leaving till Harper gets justice!’

The ones at the front pushed harder, holding their phones out like they wanted to jam the lenses into our teeth.

Someone tripped.

A table toppled.

Crockery crashed to the floor and smashed.

That was it.

A fuse had been lit.

‘Fuck it, let’s just hit her! Give Harper the revenge she deserves!’

‘There’s two of them and dozens of us. Let’s go!’