I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 172 - 173 Different Ideas

Chapter 172: Chapter 173 Different Ideas

‘You’ve lost weight,’ he said against my cheek. ‘Eat something that isn’t toast and coffee.’

The second I opened my mouth to reply, he kissed me again. Harder.

I didn’t get a word in.

My back slid deeper into the cushions until I couldn’t breathe properly.

He hauled me upright with one arm and didn’t stop.

He wasn’t drunk.

I didn’t want to think about how he’d act if he was.

When I agreed to give us a try last night, I didn’t know I’d be flipping a switch inside him.

‘You’re distracted,’ he murmured, teeth brushing my ear.

Then he scooped me up, one hand under my thighs, the other pressed to the nape of my neck.

His mouth never left mine.

He carried me up the stairs.

Every step jolted through me.

My arms looped around his shoulders without thinking.

I wasn’t falling, but it felt like I might.

His grip stayed tight, possessive.

My feet hung uselessly behind him, toes nudging his leg as he walked.

I could feel the exact pressure of his palm on my lower back, holding me steady.

He pushed open my bedroom door with his elbow.

The mattress met my spine a moment later.

I sucked in air like I’d been underwater.

As soon as he let go, I rolled to the edge of the bed and yanked the blanket up to my chin.

‘I’m done. I’m tired. I’m going to sleep.’

He pressed one palm to my shoulder and leaned in.

‘You’re the one who said we should try.’

I tried to scoot further, dragging half the blanket with me. ‘Is this your idea of trying?’

To me, ‘try’ meant dinners, movies, goodnight kisses, eventually working our way to the bedroom.

His clearly involved fewer clothes and no breaks.

I yanked the blanket over my head. ‘We’ve hit the daily quota. I’m serious. I’m about to pass out.’

It was only a partial lie.

I’d been swamped all day—back-to-back calls with suppliers, studying past competition entries, chasing down that factory contact who refused to pick up before 7 p.m.

I’d already started nodding off on the sofa earlier.

Now, with my legs tangled in sheets and my lungs deprived of oxygen, sleep was dragging me under.

Ashton leaned down, weight sinking into the mattress.

His breath landed hot behind my ear.

‘I’m flying out tomorrow. Won’t be back for a few days.’

‘Got it. Safe travels,’ I mumbled, already halfway gone.

‘I’m going to miss you.’ He braced himself on one elbow.

I didn’t respond.

My eyes had shut on their own.

Ashton pinched my nose.

Then he got up, dragged the blanket over my shoulders, stood at the edge of the bed for an unnecessarily long time, and finally left.

By the time I came downstairs the next morning, he was already gone.

‘Mr Laurent has left for his trip,’ Geoffrey announced.

‘Got it.’

It wasn’t that I didn’t like him.

It was that my mouth and neck were still sore, and I didn’t feel like being used as a training dummy for his overachieving libido.

Half an hour minimum, every time.

My spine deserved hazard pay.

While I ate, Geoffrey hovered nearby like a polite English ghost.

‘Mrs Laurent,’ he said, ‘we’ve discovered the heating in your bedroom’s malfunctioned. Maintenance will be coming in today. Do you have anything valuable inside?’

‘No,’ I said, between mouthfuls. ‘They can go in.’

I hadn’t noticed anything when I got up.

Felt fine, if a bit groggy.

I shoved it out of my mind and spent the rest of the day buried in fabric samples, order delays, and a client who changed their entire design concept because Mercury was apparently in retrograde.

Late evening, I got home, ate dinner, went upstairs, walked into my room and nearly shrieked.

The air was sharp and dry.

Cold bit straight through my clothes.

It was like walking into a freezer.

‘Geoffrey,’ I stepped back into the hallway, ‘the heating’s still busted?’

He appeared from somewhere down the corridor. ‘Yes, Mrs Laurent. The system in your room is particularly intricate. They’ll need to return tomorrow.’

I stared at him.

This house had five floors, heated marble floors, and smart toilets.

How could my room be the only one with busted heating?

‘Is the heating in the rest of the house working?’

‘Some parts, yes.’

‘Then give me another room for the night. Any room.’

He smiled.

I counted eight molars and instantly didn’t trust it.

‘Heating’s out on the entire floor dedicated to guest rooms,’ he said. ‘All the bedrooms are freezing. And the central air system’s down as well.’

‘You’ve got to be kidding.’ I rubbed my arms through my sleeves. ‘So you’re saying none of the rooms are liveable?’

‘Not quite. Mr Laurent’s suite still has working heat.’

I stared at him. ‘Why? Isn’t this place on central heating? His room and mine are on the same floor.’

Geoffrey folded his hands in front of him. ‘Yes. Except his room’s on an independent system. Mr Laurent’s suite was customised separately during the last renovation. Different wiring. Entirely self-contained.’

‘That so?’

It sounded like complete nonsense.

Who renovates a mansion and gives one room its own climate control?

But Geoffrey had the posture of someone on the witness stand at a murder trial.

Besides, what reason could he have for lying to me?

Then he suggested, ‘Since Mr Laurent’s away, why not stay in his room tonight?’

I glanced at the closed door at the end of the hall.

Heavy, dark, and extremely locked-looking.

I’d never stepped foot in there.

A person’s bedroom was sacred territory.

I wasn’t about to crawl into his bed uninvited while he was away on a business trip.

‘No. Just bring me another blanket. I’ll manage. No—bring ten.’

‘As you wish.’

I walked back into my room and sat on the bed.

Five minutes later, Geoffrey knocked and handed me a stack of blankets.

They looked thick.

They were not.