I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 191 - 192 Ashton’s POV: Damn It

Chapter 191: Chapter 192 Ashton’s POV: Damn It

By the time Ashton woke up the next morning, she was gone.

He sat alone at the table, reading through the CroftTech acquisition contract while finishing the last of the eggs.

They were cooked to perfection, Carmen’s usual standard.

His phone rang.

‘Mr Laurent, I just sent over the footage,’ Dominic said.

It was security footage, timestamped last night, just after eight, right outside The Atlas Room.

The clip showed the whole group walking in.

Rowan was two people away from Ashton. Clear distance. Nothing remotely intimate.

‘Took you long enough.’

Mirabelle believed him.

Watching it now barely mattered.

Dominic apologised. ‘Took me some time to track down the manager. Next time, I’ll get it to you faster.’

‘Someone caught a misangled shot of me and Rowan Hale last night. I want the original source. Who took it. Where they were standing. Everything.’ His voice dropped lower. ‘Especially whether Rowan had anything to do with setting it up.’

‘Understood.’

‘And check if she’s been making calls to bury the photo.’

‘Got it. I’ll dig into it.’ Dominic paused. ‘One more thing—Franklin Vance has been asking for a meeting. Reached out while you were in Riverbend. Do you have time this week?’

‘I’ll see him today.’

‘Got it.’

Ashton hung up.

Franklin Vance had better show up with a signed will and every cent pointed at Mirabelle.

At this point, Franklin and his wife had no excuse left.

They knew Catherine wasn’t theirs.

He’d been patient.

If the man still wanted to play stupid, Ashton would make sure he didn’t walk out of the LGH building.

Geoffrey hovered near his shoulder, shifting from one foot to the other.

Ashton didn’t look up. ‘Spit it out.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Geoffrey cleared his throat. ‘The dinner last night. It wasn’t from Carmen. Mrs Laurent made it.’

The piece of egg on Ashton’s fork slid off and dropped back onto the plate.

He turned his head slowly. ‘Say that again.’

‘She cooked the whole meal. The cake, too. She’d ordered it specially. She asked us not to mention it. Wanted it to be a surprise. But then you didn’t come home on time, and when you finally did...’

He trailed off.

Ashton leaned back, staring at the wall behind Geoffrey.

He remembered what he’d said. Rubbery. Too sweet.

Mirabelle had gone upstairs straight after that.

He looked back at Geoffrey. ‘And you waited until now to tell me?’

‘She told us not to. But then I saw the blister on her hand and, well, she spent hours on that dinner, sir. I thought you should know.’

Ashton turned to Carmen, who gave a quick nod.

Cooking. Cake orders. Burned hand.

She’d waited for him. He hadn’t shown.

His grip on the fork tightened.

What had he missed?

What was the occasion last night?

He knew it wasn’t her birthday, nor his, nor any kind of anniversary.

If he’d come home earlier, if he’d eaten with her, what would she have said?

‘Where’s the food from last night?’ He asked.

If he’d known she’d made it, he’d have cleared the whole table.

Thinking back now, the meal hadn’t even tasted bad.

Not great, but no worse than Carmen’s more experimental plates.

Geoffrey muttered, ‘Mrs Laurent had it binned this morning before she left. All of it.’

Ashton looked up. ‘All of it?’

‘Yes, sir. Said it was just tasteless leftovers. Didn’t want them taking up fridge space.’

‘You should’ve told me last night.’

‘She told us not to. I wasn’t even supposed to say anything now. Please don’t mention it to her...’

Ashton ignored him.

He kept eating, chewing mechanically.

His mood didn’t improve when he reached the office.

He hadn’t even taken off his coat when Dominic walked in.

‘Sir, Franklin Vance is waiting in the conference room—’

‘Let him wait.’

He didn’t care if Vance stood there all day.

He pulled out his phone and opened Mirabelle’s chat.

His thumbs hovered, tapped out half a sentence, then deleted it.

None of it sounded right.

Too late, too stiff, too rehearsed.

Whatever he sent now would reek of guilt.

He shoved the phone back into his pocket.

But the image stuck—her hand, bandaged. The food, dumped without a second thought.

By eleven, the pressure in his head had built to snapping point.

He stood up abruptly and left his office.

He didn’t knock.

The door to the conference room slammed behind him.

He dropped into the chair at the head of the table.

Franklin stood fast. ‘Mr Laurent...’

He stayed standing, rubbing his palms together, sweat building under his collar.

‘Mr Laurent, I’ve brought the will.’

That earned him a glance.

Ashton’s eyes were flat and cold.

Franklin swallowed. ‘Mirabelle’s my daughter. Only daughter. What I earned should go to her. But I’ve worked in the company for years, I’ve—’

Ashton rapped the table. ‘Get to the point.’

‘Yes, yes, of course...’ Franklin fumbled with his briefcase and pulled out a stack of printed papers. ‘Here. This is the will. Most of the estate goes to Mirabelle. I just thought... maybe Preston could have a small portion. He’s contributed to the company, and his father’s never done a thing for him...’

He held the pages out with both hands, arms extended like he was making an offering.

Ashton took them without a word, eyes flicking over the lines.

He curled his lip.

Franklin tensed. ‘Is... is something wrong, Mr Laurent?’

Ashton dropped the will onto the table. ‘You really thought you could forge this and get away with it?’

Franklin flinched.

His shoulders jerked up.

‘I didn’t forge anything. This is my latest will. Signed. Witnessed. Properly notarised. Everything’s clearly written in black and white.’

Ashton stared at him. ‘You bribed a lawyer who lost his licence last year and paid for a set of seals off the internet. You think that counts as notarised?’