I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 188 - 189 Dinner, Maybe

Chapter 188: Chapter 189 Dinner, Maybe

I’d assumed it was business.

He’d been away from the company for almost a week, after all.

Work must have been piling up.

Turned out he’d been at a hotel.

With Rowan Hale.

I’d noticed it back in Riverbend, the way she hovered around him.

It hadn’t clicked at the time, but now it did.

While I sat there replaying every second of that short meeting with her, Daniel waved a hand in front of my face.

‘Can I have my phone back? You look like you want to crush it to pulp.’

I blinked. ‘Sorry. Has this photo made the rounds yet?’

‘Nah. Just a few fans found it. They’re saying the guy might be her boyfriend, and they’re trying not to spread it. Rowan’s still low-key here. Most people don’t even know she’s in the country.’

‘Boyfriend,’ I muttered. ‘Can you send it to me? I won’t post it anywhere.’

Daniel nodded. ‘Sure. Sending it now.’

My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I didn’t check it.

I couldn’t focus on anything.

I didn’t even remember what I was meant to be working on.

Around five, the bell above the door jingled and Yvaine swept in with a cake box.

‘I messaged you three times. You’re ignoring me now?’ she called. ‘Whatever. I brought it myself. Don’t tell me you’re backing out of your candlelit dinner with Ashton.’

I dragged myself down the stairs to meet her.

I took the cake from Yvaine’s hands and mumbled, ‘Sorry, I was swamped. Didn’t check my phone.’

That was a lie.

I wasn’t busy.

I just couldn’t think straight after seeing that photo of Ashton with Rowan Hale.

Yvaine grinned. ‘It’s dark out. Stop working already. I’m off the clock. I’ve got a date.’

‘Then go,’ I told her. ‘Don’t let me delay your love life. Watch out for weird cab drivers.’

She waved and left.

A few minutes later, Priya and Daniel packed up too.

‘Night, boss,’ Priya called from the stairs.

‘Don’t forget to sleep.’ Daniel added when he saw my face, ‘You okay? You look... kinda depressed.’

‘Not depressed.’ I forced a smile. ‘Just tired.’

‘Well, like I said, don’t forget to sleep. Good night.’

‘Night.’

I waved them off and headed upstairs to clear the clutter on my desk.

Once everything was packed away, I sat down, unlocked my phone, and opened the photo again.

I’d looked at it maybe fifty times already.

Ashton wasn’t looking at her, but she was looking at him.

I stared at the screen, chewing the inside of my cheek.

They definitely knew each other. Ashton told me that himself.

But he’s said Rowan was an acquaintance.

Was that true?

What if...

What if Rowan was the so-called great love he never got over?

Then what the hell was he doing with me?

But no, that wasn’t him.

Ashton didn’t do double-dealing.

If he wanted someone else, he’d tell me.

He’d say it straight to my face.

Or more likely, he’d sit me down and explain why our contract was now null and void.

I opened our chat. Typed out a whole paragraph. Deleted it.

Then I wrote something short: [Come home for dinner tonight.]

He replied immediately: [I’ll be home early.]

When I walked into the house, Carmen had everything out on the counter, washed, chopped, arranged like a demo kitchen.

‘Mrs Laurent,’ she said, tying her apron and beaming at me, ‘everything’s prepped. Just tell me what you feel like making, and I’ll assist.’

‘Thanks.’

I walked over and stared at the ingredients.

The carrots were cut into uniform coins, the chicken sliced perfectly, even the garlic was minced so fine it looked powdered.

I left this morning ready to tell him everything.

Now I wasn’t sure I even wanted him to eat what I cooked.

Carmen hovered near the counter. ‘Want me to just handle it?’

I straightened up. ‘No. I said I’d cook, so I will. Just... stay close. My skills are average at best.’

‘You got it.’

I rinsed my hands under the tap and dried them on a dish towel.

I’d had hours to get a grip. Enough time to stop spiralling over one grainy photo.

It was dark. The angle was weird. Could’ve been anyone.

The place didn’t even look like a hotel unless you squinted and already wanted to be pissed off.

People always gossiped about celebrities.

Rowan was a celebrity.

He’d be home soon. I’d ask him directly.

If it was nothing, we’d eat.

If it wasn’t... well, I’d deal with it then.

Carmen stepped in to chop, stir, and quietly fix anything I botched.

She picked up the slack where I hesitated, and somehow, it all came together.

Starter: whipped feta with olive oil and thyme, plus a warm sourdough baguette Carmen sliced at a perfect angle.

Main: duck breast with cherry sauce that actually thickened, parmesan polenta I didn’t burn, and green beans I remembered to season.

Dessert: berry and apple crumble, still bubbling when I took it out. Plus Yvaine’s cake.

I tasted a bite of everything.

It wasn’t awful.

Carmen’s version would’ve been tastier, but nothing was undercooked or weirdly crunchy, so I counted it as a win.

By the time we finished, it was past seven.

Ashton still hadn’t shown.

He normally got home by six if he wasn’t out at some event.

Tonight, he hadn’t mentioned any meetings.

I checked my phone. No messages. No missed calls.

Just that one reply from earlier.

I waited thirty minutes before texting him.

Nothing.

I called.

It rang until the last second, then he finally picked up.

Background noise poured through the speaker—shouting, car horns, something metal clattering.

He spoke first. ‘Something’s come up. I’ll be late. Don’t wait.’

His voice was rushed. He sounded like he was moving.