I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 158 - 159 Ashton’s POV: Retribution

Chapter 158: Chapter 159 Ashton’s POV: Retribution

Ashton stayed in the study after dinner.

He sat still for a few minutes, watching the light shift on the edge of his desk, trying to let it go.

He couldn’t.

The Grangers had blamed Mirabelle without proof.

Then stayed silent after seeing the evidence.

No apology. Just quiet cowardice.

He picked up his phone and called Dominic.

‘Find out where Catherine Vance is being treated.’

Dominic rang back twelve minutes later.

‘She’s in a private clinic,’ he said. ‘Same place that issued the miscarriage report.’

Ashton stared at the clinic’s name.

The director there owed him a favour.

He called directly. ‘Check Catherine Vance’s file. I want to know if it was tampered with.’

The director got back within fifteen minutes.

He sounded pissed off and sheepish at the same time.

‘One of our doctors took a bribe. Changed the timing on the report from morning to afternoon. I’ve suspended him.’

Dominic called again.

‘Catherine was seen at another hospital yesterday. Just after nine am. Security footage confirms it. She didn’t stay long. I’m forwarding you the miscarriage report.’

Everything lined up.

She’d lost the baby in the morning.

Got confirmation from the hospital, realised they couldn’t alter the records, so she bribed someone at a private clinic.

Then she’d gone to Mirabelle’s studio, staged the confrontation, then checked into the clinic, where the paperwork said she miscarried in the afternoon.

Ashton leaned back in his chair, lips twitching once in disdain.

It was pathetic.

Did she really think no one would dig? That she could pull a stunt like that and walk away clean?

She was partially right—Rhys Granger hadn’t bothered checking a single fact before tearing into Mirabelle.

But that didn’t mean everyone else was as dumb as Rhys.

Ashton called Dominic again.

‘Send everything we have to Clive Granger. The hospital footage, the forged report, all of it.’

‘Understood, Mr Laurent.’

‘And give him a message. If he wants his family to stay in Skyline City, he’d better leash his son.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Half an hour later, Dominic sent him a video.

The shot was of a hospital room.

Catherine’s crying could be heard in the background.

The frame was focused on Clive, who slapped Rhys across the face.

‘You blamed Mirabelle without checking a damn thing. Apologise to her.’

Rhys stood stiff, one hand over his cheek.

‘Sorry,’ he muttered to the camera, barely audible.

Ashton hadn’t finished watching before Dominic rang again.

‘Clive Granger says he’s dealt with Rhys. They know Catherine set the whole thing up. He wants to know if that video satisfies you.’

‘You tell him that wasn’t a punishment. That was theatre. And I’m not in the mood for shows.’

Ten minutes later, a second video came through.

This time, Clive struck his son three times.

Not soft taps for the camera.

One strike split the skin at the corner of Rhys’s mouth.

His cheek turned blotchy, eyelid already starting to puff.

Ashton played it back. Then again.

Dominic called. ‘Clive says this time it’s real. He says if that still doesn’t satisfy you, he’s willing to bring Rhys to your office personally. Or to your house. Wherever you want. Apology on his knees, if necessary. And he wants you to know he’s keeping Catherine locked down for the foreseeable future.’

Ashton rubbed his jaw slowly. ‘Tell him I’m... not quite happy, but seem to be relenting.’

‘You want him to think the videos are working?’

‘Exactly. Feed him that. Make sure he believes he’s bought a sliver of goodwill, but not enough to feel safe.’

‘Understood.’

‘And Dom, start acquiring Granger Development Group stock. Anything floating in public hands, get it discreetly. Use proxies. Keep it clean.’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll activate the secondary fund. It won’t ping the Grangers until we’re well past the eight per cent mark.’

‘Good. I want Clive focusing on Rhys, not the boardroom.’

Ashton rose and moved to the window.

‘Also, start pushing whispers about Rhys and Catherine’s marriage. Make it sound like it’s on the rocks.’

‘Any specific angle?’

‘They had a fight. He’s seeing another woman. Anything. Use your imagination. I want the public to think they’re on the verge of divorce. Once the word spreads, Clive Granger will do everything to prove the marriage is still intact.

‘He won’t risk a divorce scandal. Not so soon after the wedding.’

‘Exactly. Keep the Grangers in a holding pattern, confused, reactive.’

‘Understood, sir.’

The study went quiet after the call ended.

Ashton leaned back, rolled the crystal glass between his fingers.

The whisky barely sloshed.

He glanced towards the hallway.

Her bedroom door must still be shut, just like it had been when he walked past earlier.

The light under the door had been on.

What was she doing?

What would she say if she knew what he’d done tonight?

It wasn’t illegal, not quite.

But there was nothing clean about it, either.

Would she be disappointed?

He remembered her face the other day, when he said he’d take her to the range for shooting lessons.

She hadn’t flinched, not exactly.

But she’d wanted to say no, he could tell.

And she’d given all sorts of excuses since to push back the first lesson.

Would she be scared of him if she knew?

Not just tonight’s quiet war against the Grangers.

But the version of him from the early days.

His own company, Titanova, was built in places where bribery worked better than ballots, where lawyers couldn’t reach and didn’t try.

His competitors had disappeared.

Sometimes quietly.

Sometimes with noise.

And he’d survived because he hadn’t hesitated, and because he knew how to use a gun.

But that was years ago.

That version of him was fading.

Had to be.

If he wanted to stay here, with her, he couldn’t be that man any more.

He turned back to the desk, unlocked the second phone, and made another call.

‘Confirm the Brazil handoff’s on track,’ he said. ‘No delays. I want full operational authority transferred before the quarter ends.’

‘Yes, Mr Laurent.’

‘And keep guiding Titanova into clean-tech. Slow, but steady. No blood. I want the next investment rounds fit for press conferences.’

‘We’ll get it done.’

He hung up and started another.