I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 168 - 169 His Past

Chapter 168: Chapter 169 His Past

His whole body was stiff, like he didn’t know what to do with contact.

I ran my hand slowly over his back, palm flat, keeping the rhythm steady.

After a few passes, his shoulders dropped.

He exhaled, shallow and shaky, and his head lowered until his face was pressed into my neck.

Then he held on. Hard.

The car stayed silent.

There wasn’t even traffic outside.

Just the faint creak of the leather seats as he shifted closer and locked his arms around me.

He didn’t speak for a long time.

When he finally did, his voice was low, paced out like each word needed effort.

‘I moved back in with the Laurents when I was ten. Nobody gave a shit I was there. Gwendolyn acted nice in front of people but told the staff to mess with me behind my back. One time, they sent me up a tree to get Declan’s kite. They’d already broken one of the branches. I fell. Hit my back on a rock. The scar’s still there.’

I kept my hand moving slowly across his back.

I didn’t know where the scar was, or how bad it had been.

But I stayed where I was, anchoring him in place, giving him something solid to hold on to.

‘When I got up off the ground, I saw her. Gwendolyn. She was hiding behind the shed, watching. Smirking. That was when it clicked. All it took was a look. She wanted me stepped on, and they delivered.’

He pressed his forehead against my collarbone.

‘When they sent me overseas, Edouard gave me money. Or he meant to. She intercepted it. Every cent. I would’ve starved if Declan hadn’t wired cash behind her back. He didn’t even like me then. He just... didn’t want to be the reason I died.’

I kept rubbing circles on his back, light and slow, waiting.

Then I asked, ‘Tell me about your mum.’

‘She was with Reginald before Gwendolyn came into the picture. They were already involved. But she wasn’t the right pedigree, so he married Gwendolyn. But he kept my mum around for years. Lied to her about leaving Gwendolyn. She believed him.’

I sensed where the story was going.

‘Gwendolyn came to the house a few times, screaming. Broke a window once. I was maybe five at the time. My mum couldn’t handle it. It got worse year by year. One morning, she was fine. It was my birthday. She made me toast. Waved me off like normal. When I came back that night... she was cold. In bed. Face up. Still in her slippers.’

He leaned back abruptly, eyes locked on the window.

My shoulder felt damp.

I glanced down.

His face gave nothing away, but my jumper was wet.

For a few minutes, he’d let his guard drop, just enough to lean on me, to fall apart a little.

Now it was gone again. Packed away without warning.

‘My mum was on medication. Antipsychotics, I think. She was obsessed with Reginald. Wouldn’t hear a word against him. Even when he stopped calling, even when he got engaged, she still waited. When it finally sank in that he was never coming back, something just... snapped. Maybe it started as love, but by the end, she was furious. Only she couldn’t aim it at him, so she turned it on me.’

He scratched his knuckles, left hand pressing into his thigh.

‘I thought she blamed me. That I’d ruined her life. I thought she gave up because she couldn’t take care of me anymore. But months later, I overheard Reginald and Gwendolyn arguing. He was yelling about her going to see my mum. Said it was right before she—’

He cut off.

I already knew.

‘Gwendolyn said something to her,’ I said quietly.

He nodded. ‘I don’t know what. But it wasn’t kind.’

My fingers curled into my palm.

It hadn’t been just petty cruelty.

Gwendolyn had worked to break him, start to finish.

She’d kept up her little performance in public, smiling like she gave a damn, acting like she was proud of him.

She’d made sure everyone saw her as the decent one.

And I’d fallen for the act.

While I was silently planning to rip off my own skin, Ashton added, ‘She always keeps it polished on the surface. Pretends she’s proud of me. But she’s not. She can’t stand me. The second you texted me, I knew she’d set you up. She wanted to rattle me. She just didn’t want to get her hands dirty doing it.’

The silence stretched.

I rubbed my thumb along the inside of my wrist and cleared my throat.

‘Now that I know, you don’t need to worry. I’m on your side. Always. I’m not stupid enough to fall for her bullshit again. She can scheme all she wants, won’t make a dent. And for the record, your mum never thought you were a burden. She probably just wanted you to be okay.’

He gave a quiet hum and reached for my hand.

His fingers curled around mine.

Then he nodded at the floor. ‘What’s that?’

I followed his gaze.

The bag was propped against my boots.

‘It was supposed to be a present,’ I muttered.

When he dragged me out the door earlier, I’d grabbed it on reflex.

He looked genuinely curious. ‘What’s in it?’

I hesitated.

He hated birthdays.

The idea of him unwrapping anything remotely celebratory made my stomach tighten.

Just bringing it up felt cruel.

But he was waiting.

So I reached down, pulled the box from the bag, and handed it over.

‘It’s not a birthday present. It’s for the winter solstice.’

He kept his eyes on me.

I felt the heat crawl up from the seats, from the space between us, from his hand still resting on mine.

The cold that had clung to him earlier was gone.

He flipped the lid and stared at the watch nestled inside.