I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 204 - 205 Ashton’s POV: Going Public

Chapter 204: Chapter 205 Ashton’s POV: Going Public

Mirabelle: [I’m not telling you who to eat dinner with. Just... two photo leaks in a row? Keep your guard up next time.]

Ashton: [The guy who took them is already in custody. We’ll find out who paid him.]

Mirabelle: [Good.]

Ashton: [Did you see what I posted on X?]

Mirabelle: [Didn’t know you had an X account. Give me a moment.]

Ashton waited.

Then—

Mirabelle: [You announced it? Publicly? Without even asking me???]

Ashton sat stiff in the back seat, fingers curled tight around his phone.

The screen glared back at him, the three sharp question marks lined up like little knives.

She was angry.

She hadn’t said it outright, but he could see it in the spacing, the punctuation.

He should’ve waited.

Now he understood what Dominic had tried to hint at earlier.

But at the time, it had felt necessary. Urgent.

He’d wanted to shut it all down.

The speculation. The fake flings. The Rowan Hale shitstorm.

He hadn’t thought past that one moment of impulsiveness.

But now...

The car eased to a stop.

Gino twisted around slightly. ‘Mr Laurent, we’ve arrived.’

Ashton lifted his head.

Beyond the window, the entrance to the Sunset City Hotel gleamed under cold overhead lights.

A fountain pulsed beside the stone angels at the gate, water spraying over the marble like rain on glass.

He didn’t move.

He’d told Gino to speed through two boroughs just to get here.

But now that he was here, he didn’t open the door.

He hadn’t told her he’d come to Sunset.

She was already annoyed.

If she saw him in person, it might turn into something else. Something worse.

He typed slowly.

[Are you mad?]

Her reply came fast.

[I’m surprised. This was something big. You should’ve said something. We agreed to keep it quiet for now.]

He stared at the words, jaw tight.

She was being measured, rational.

That made it worse.

He typed, thumb hovering for a second before hitting send.

[Things aren’t the same now. I want it out there.]

Mirabelle: [You posted that because of Rowan Hale? You didn’t want her name linked to yours again, so you threw this out to shut people up?]

Ashton: [That’s one of the reasons, but not the important one. I wanted to tell people I’m married. To you. I want to let the world know that you and I are together.]

Nothing came back.

He waited.

Five minutes.

Then ten.

He wiped a hand down his face and typed again.

[I didn’t tag you. No one knows it’s you. That doesn’t count as going public. I’m not trying to corner you. If you’re not okay with it, I’ll delete the post. Just don’t stay mad, alright?]

Still no reply.

The last thing he wanted was to push her further away.

Still, he couldn’t stand the silence.

Ashton: [If I ask properly this time—can we go public?]

Ashton: [Would you be okay if I tag you in my next post? As my wife?]

A long moment later, she said: [Let me think.]

Ashton: [Okay.]

The car had been idling at the hotel entrance for too long.

Gino finally cleared his throat and said again, ‘Mr Laurent, we’re here.’

Ashton didn’t respond right away.

His fingers were still wrapped around his phone, unmoving.

A beat later, he exhaled through his nose, shoved the door open, and got out.

As soon as he walked in, a man in a suit came scurrying over.

‘Mr Laurent, welcome. I’m Ned Camacho, manager of this hotel.’

‘Dominic told you I was coming?’

‘Yes, Mr Everett called, though he didn’t mention the purpose of the visit.’

When Ashton didn’t answer the unspoken question, Ned Camacho fidgeted.

‘Which room is Mirabelle Vance in?’

‘Um, give me a second to check, please.’ He jogged to the front desk, spoke to the check-in clerk, then came back a minute later. ‘Miss Vance is on the sixth floor. Room 608. Would you like me to place a call to her room?’

‘No.’ Ashton headed towards the bank of lifts.

Ned Camacho jogged to catch up. ‘Mr Laurent, I could—’

‘No.’

The man stopped.

Ashton got into the lift alone.

The ride up was too short for him to gather his myriad thoughts.

When the door dinged open, he stepped out, found 608, and stopped.

He didn’t knock.

Instead, he leaned his back against the wall beside her door and unlocked his phone.

Still no new messages.

The screen showed her last one: [Let me think.]

His thumb hovered over it.

She was probably asleep by now. Or pretending to be.

He stayed there, motionless, watching the timestamp like it might blink and change.

It didn’t.

He’d handed her the decision.

Now all he could do was wait.

He stared at the door.

Every part of him wanted to dismantle the door, walk in, and ask her straight: ‘Is all this still just a contract to you? You said you’d give us a try.’

They’d been tangled in each other’s lives for months.

Still, she hesitated.

Did she still want Rhys Granger? That useless piece of shit?

Ashton rubbed his jaw, trying to stop himself from thinking in circles.

He didn’t knock.

He just stood there, silent, waiting for nothing.

The phone display dimmed; he tapped it back on.

Then again. And again.

The hallway was silent.

The carpet beneath his shoes muffled every shift of his weight.

The only sound came from the faint hum of the lift at the far end.

He tried to tell himself she wasn’t ready.

If she didn’t want to go public, that was fine.

It meant she still didn’t feel secure enough.

That was on him.

He’d fix it.

He’d give her more time. More reasons to trust him.

Tomorrow. Or the next day.

Or whenever the hell she stopped flinching at the thought of calling him hers.

One day, he’d say it loud. To the press, to the board, to whoever the fuck cared.

That he belonged to her.

He stared down at the screen again.

His reflection blinked back at him—drawn, exhausted, pathetic.

He shouldn’t have come.

She didn’t need him here.

She was safe.

He could go home.

No one had to know.

He straightened, turned towards the lift.

His phone buzzed.