I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 202 - 203 Uncontactable

Chapter 202: Chapter 203 Uncontactable

The second the call ended, Daniel’s phone buzzed again.

He opened the app, tapped the ‘accept transfer’ button.

Priya had sent two grand.

That covered the phone.

Ashton too—Priya could pass on the message.

Daniel stared at his screen.

His head was down. Fringe dipped over his eyes.

‘What’s the hold-up?’ I asked. ‘You stall any longer, and the shop’s going to close.’

He blinked hard and straightened up. ‘Right. Sorry, I zoned out a bit.’ He yawned. ‘I’m ordering now.’

Once the confirmation came through, I felt the pressure ease in my chest.

Ashton would know I was safe.

That was enough for tonight.

We kept walking towards the hotel.

The pavement was dry, but the air smelled faintly of car exhaust and fried onions from the halal cart at the corner.

Daniel stopped abruptly. ‘Wait. That name you said earlier, Ashton. Was that Ashton Laurent?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You know him?’

‘He’s my husband.’

He jerked his head around, wide-eyed.

‘Wait—hold on. You and him? Married?’

I showed him my ring. ‘I thought you would’ve seen this a long time ago.’

‘Yeah, I did. I just... I never made the connection. Wait, I mean, if he’s your husband, why the hell’s he messing around with Rowan Hale? That’s just foul. Two-timing piece of—’

‘He’s not like that.’ I frowned.

‘But the photo!’

‘It could be staged. Photoshopped. Who knew.’

‘But that’s twice now he’s been caught with Rowan.’ Daniel was indignant, though I wasn’t sure if it was on behalf of me or his beloved singer idol.

‘I believe him,’ I said simply. ‘He won’t cheat.’

‘How long have you been married?’

‘Not long,’ I said evasively. ‘Why?’

‘You’ve seen the Marilyn Monroe film, The Seven Year Itch?’

‘No, but I’ve heard the phrase.’

‘Then you know what I mean.’

‘I really don’t,’ I said drily.

This conversation was beginning to put my back up.

‘Guys tend to stray after they’ve been married for a long time. I’m a guy. I know.’

‘That may be true for some guys, but not Ashton.’

‘I’m just saying, you should be careful. The guy’s rich, right? He could be keeping another—’

‘I don’t want to talk about this.’

Daniel shut up.

We were outside the hotel when he stopped.

‘You should go up, get some rest. I’ll bring your phone when it gets here. I used the hotel’s front desk for the delivery address.’

‘No need. I’ll wait down here. You go grab some sleep. You look tired.’

His mouth opened slightly. Then he nodded and walked off without arguing.

I stayed in the lobby, on a stiff velvet armchair that smelled faintly of bleach.

Ten minutes later, the concierge handed me the parcel.

I tore through the packaging, powered it on, set up the Wi-Fi, made sure everything was working.

Only after that did I go upstairs.

There was no SIM card, though.

None of the apps would let me log in.

I must’ve added some kind of account protection ages ago without thinking.

Everything wanted SMS verification.

I tried every workaround I could think of.

Nothing worked.

Only Instagram and X let me in.

But Ashton didn’t use either.

I showered and climbed onto the bed, damp hair dripping onto the pillow.

The sheets were cool and slightly scratchy.

I propped myself up and scrolled.

Ashton’s name wasn’t trending.

Neither was Rowan’s.

But when I searched directly, the posts came up fast: threads packed with screenshots, usernames I recognised from gossip accounts, fans tearing each other apart in the replies.

Apparently, Rowan had put out a statement, said nothing was going on.

It didn’t help.

If anything, it only fanned the flames more.

One comment read: [These PR clarifications are useless. Probably not even written by Rowan herself.]

Another replied: [Actually, if it’s this fast, it might be true.]

[Exactly! Probably real. They’re just keeping it quiet for now. Next time they get papped it’ll be in wedding outfits.]

[Don’t care. They look good together. I’m shipping them, deal with it.]

[Same. Send me the RSVP.]

I stared at the screen.

I knew it was noise, just strangers guessing things they didn’t understand, but that didn’t make it any better.

Seeing Ashton’s name next to hers again, followed by lines of celebration, it scraped.

‘They’re just chatting shit. It’ll pass in a day,’ I muttered, even though I didn’t believe it.

I closed Instagram, then X, then tried logging back into that damned digital wallet.

Still locked out.

After a few tries, I realised I could access Venmo using facial recognition.

Venmo had chat.

And I had Ashton’s contact saved.

I sat up straight.

Opened the app.

First checked my balance.

No recent transactions, no bank alerts. Cards all intact.

Then I scrolled to his name. And Yvaine’s.

Typed three messages to Ashton, fast.

Four to Yvaine.

Nothing came back.

I flopped down again, one hand still gripping the phone.

No one used Venmo for messaging.

He probably hadn’t touched the app in weeks.

I rolled over, twice.

Then a third time.

Then I shoved the covers off and called Daniel’s room number.

‘Yeah?’ He sounded wide awake.

‘Sorry to bother you again. But can you get Priya to reach out to Yvaine again? Tell her to check Venmo. Let me know if there’s anything.’

‘Got it.’

I kept the TV on, but my eyes stayed glued to the phone.

Minutes passed.

Then half an hour.

Midnight came and went.