I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 182 - 183 Ashton’s POV: Back Her Up

Chapter 182: Chapter 183 Ashton’s POV: Back Her Up

Ashton held the Aureate Awards programme open across his lap, scanning the list of sponsors.

Up ahead, the freshly built stage gleamed under the overhead lights.

Contestants would be presenting their concepts there once the clock ran out.

A rehearsal was in progress—host on stage, production crew scattered, checking mics and blocking.

Rows of folding chairs faced the platform, half of them still empty.

Only a few audience members had filtered in this early.

‘Ashton!’

He looked up at the sound of his name.

Octavia jogged up, out of breath. ‘Your wife’s getting screwed over and no one’s doing a damn thing about it! The organisers aren’t even pretending to investigate. They’ve already decided Mirabelle has cheated. And that I was in on it.’

Ashton asked her to sit. ‘Slow down. Start from the beginning.’

‘She’s being set up!’ Octavia relayed what had just happened in Mirabelle’s room.

He stood. ‘Who’s the person in charge?’

‘Dubois. Dr Aliénor Dubois. She’s the one pulling strings. I tried escalating, called the investors. They’ve got no clue what’s happening backstage.’

Ashton picked up the programme, flipped past the judges’ bios, landed on a block of fine print near the back.

Tristan Hadley. Competition director, overall in charge.

Not a familiar name.

But above Hadley’s name was the Lumina Omni Holdings logo.

He reached into his jacket and took out his phone.

Octavia leaned over. ‘You actually know this Tristan guy?’

‘I don’t,’ Ashton said. ‘But I know his boss.’

Ashton dialled.

The line rang three times before a groggy voice answered.

‘Ashton? You’re calling at this bloody hour for what? It’s morning here. I was asleep.’

Kian Al-Ahmad, Lumina’s CEO, sounded half-awake and fully annoyed.

Ashton ignored it. ‘I need something handled.’

He gave a clipped summary of the situation.

Kian swore. ‘The what awards?’

‘The Aureate. Jewellery design.’

A pause. Then a tired grunt. ‘Never heard of it. If it’s under one of mine, it’s probably buried somewhere in a sub-division. I’ve got too many companies to keep track of small fry like this. And you’re calling me for it?’

‘My wife’s involved. They’ve screwed with her. I’m not wasting time chasing interns. You’re the fastest option.’

That got Kian’s attention. ‘Your wife? Like, for real? When did you get married? Hell, why didn’t I get an invite? Don’t tell me our years in Wessexia meant nothing to you. I—’

‘Act now, reminisce later,’ Ashton cut in. ‘I want a name, a reason, and an outcome. I’m at the venue right now.’

Kian cleared his throat. ‘Alright. I got this. I’m getting out of bed now. It’s six in the bloody morning, by the way. If that’s not friendship, I don’t know what is.’

‘Good,’ Ashton said. ‘Get the facts straight first.’

‘Got it.’

Four minutes later, Kian called back.

‘The guy running the show, Tristan Hadley, is over in Riverbend, other side of town. I’ve asked him to haul ass back to the venue. Told him not to fuck around. From now on, he reports to you. Run the event however you want. Shut it down if that’s what it takes.’

‘Got it. Appreciate it.’

‘Good. Remember that when you get married next time and need to pick a best man. Now, unless you’ve got more problems, I’m going back to sleep.’

Ashton hung up.

Octavia had been openly eavesdropping. ‘Well?’

‘We wait for Tristan Hadley. First, he finds out who’s behind this.’

Less than thirty minutes later, Hadley arrived.

Mid-forties, balding, in an ill-fitted blazer.

He jogged in, forehead soaked, eyes darting.

He stopped short in front of Ashton and bent slightly at the waist.

‘Mr Laurent, I’m Tristan Hadley. I’ve reviewed the situation. I’ll get someone on the CCTV footage right away.’

When Ashton didn’t reply, Hadley blinked and adjusted his glasses.

Sweat gathered again at his temples.

‘If there’s anything specific you need from me, I’m at your full disposal.’

‘The footage was tampered with internally. Whoever you send will find exactly what the saboteur wants them to. I want the person behind it. Not the scapegoat. I want the name of whoever directed Dr Aliénor Dubois.’

Hadley swallowed audibly. ‘Understood. I’ll keep it discreet. I’ll find out who’s pulling strings.’

Ashton gave a faint nod. ‘You’ve got two hours. That’s when the event ends. If I don’t have an answer by then, I’ll go straight to Mr Al-Ahmad.’

Hadley flinched. ‘That’s, uh, that’s not necessary, Mr Laurent. Mr Al-Ahmad is busy. I’m sure we don’t need to bother him with such a trivial matter.’

‘Then you better act fast.’

‘Of course, of course! I’ll have your answer within two hours.’

Hadley bolted, half-running, half-tripping, until he disappeared backstage.

‘I’ll go keep an eye on that Dubois woman.’ Octavia rose. ‘Make sure she doesn’t try anything again.’

Ashton stayed in his seat, unmoving.

He considered doing what Kian suggested and just pulling the plug on the entire competition.

But Octavia had made it clear that Mirabelle had insisted on finishing.

Even when the odds were stacked against her.

So Ashton stayed where he was.

Soon, audience began trickling in.

A host stepped up to the centre stage.

The house lights dimmed.

Everyone quietened.

A large screen lit up with the first contestant’s design, and the judges’ tablets buzzed to life.

Each screen showed a high-resolution rendering, angles, materials list, the usual breakdown.

Once the contestant finished speaking, the judges began tapping their scores.

Ashton saw Octavia, seated next to a woman who looked vaguely familiar.

He knew Octavia wasn’t there for technical credibility.

She’d been brought in for PR, and her score carried little weight.

It would be scaled down in the final tally.

The real authority sat dead-centre: Dr Aliénor Dubois.

Ashton noticed the other judges kept checking her reaction before submitting anything.

Dubois had the room in her grip.

Ashton shifted in his chair.

He had no doubt Dubois would lowball Mirabelle the second she had the chance.

At least Mirabelle had drawn the final slot.

That bought her a few extra minutes.

Each presentation was capped at three minutes.

The pace stayed tight.

Contestants cycled through quickly, and soon they were down to the last handful.

Tristan Hadley jogged down the aisle, shoulders hunched.

He slid into the narrow space beside Ashton.