I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 210 - 211 Ashton’s POV: Culprit

Chapter 210: Chapter 211 Ashton’s POV: Culprit

After Mirabelle left, Ashton dropped back onto the pillows, one arm flung over his eyes.

The sheets were still warm where she’d been.

He rolled over, caught her scent on the pillow, and then looked down.

He swore under his breath, glaring at the tent in his pyjama trousers.

He shifted, adjusted, then swore again.

His eyes drifted to the nightstand.

There, stacked with smug precision, were the three dozen boxes of condoms.

Delivered far too late to be useful.

He made a mental note to dock the manager’s pay.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Then again.

And again.

He reached for it, thumbed the screen to life.

Three messages. All from Rowan.

First: [So sorry again about the mix-up at dinner. I had no idea someone would photograph us together like that.]

Second: [Just saw your post (and Mirabelle’s)! Congratulations! Truly. You two look perfect together.]

Third: [I really hope that misunderstanding didn’t cause any trouble between you and Mirabelle. Please tell her I didn’t mean to intrude.]

Ashton dropped the phone back onto the mattress beside him and stared at the ceiling.

His morning wood was gone.

His phone lit up again, this time with a call.

‘The pap from last night cracked,’ Cassian said. ‘Sang like a choirboy at booking.’

‘Okay.’ Ashton waited for him to continue.

‘I felt bad for the way the dinner turned out. So I called in favours, pulled some strings, got the case—’

‘Get to the point.’

‘He named your stepmother. Gwendolyn Laurent. She sent someone to tail you, hired the pap to take the photo. Both times. Probably also had someone else posting everything online. I didn’t expect that, honestly.’

Cassian didn’t bother sugar-coating anything.

He knew Ashton couldn’t stand her.

‘That twisted old bitch is still at it,’ he said. ‘You keep throwing money at that family, no wonder they’ve got time to cook up shit like this.’

Ashton stayed silent, phone pressed tight against his ear.

He waited until Cassian stopped talking.

Then he said, ‘Got it. I’m not in Skyline this week. Keep an eye on them for me.’

‘You got it. Wait—where are you?’

Ashton was about to say ‘none of your business,’ then he changed his mind. ‘You haven’t seen my post?’

‘What post?’

‘On X.’

‘X? I didn’t even know you had an account.’

‘Search for my name.’

‘Doing it now... Why does it sound like you’re smiling?’

Ashton was.

‘Got it,’ Cassian said. Then his voice went up an octave. ‘You’re married? Wait, no, I knew that. I mean, hell, you’ve gone public?’

‘The photo speaks for itself.’

‘Yeah, but... damn. I never thought you’d gone public like this.’

‘Why not?’

‘Just... not your usual style. You don’t like press or publicity, never did. Now you have X and everything. You did it for her, didn’t you?’

‘Mm-hmm.’

Cassian whistled. ‘So, when’s the wedding?’

Ashton thought of his conversation with Mirabelle at the last wedding they’d attended together, then of this morning.

His good mood vanished.

‘Hello? Ash? Still there? I asked—’

He ended the call.

He crossed to the window, unlatched it, pushed it open.

Cold air cut through the room.

He stood there, breathing it in.

It helped, though not much.

Gwendolyn’s name hadn’t come up in the initial report.

That part surprised him.

The fact that she was involved didn’t.

She needed to interfere.

That was the only way she stayed relevant.

He took out his phone again, called Dominic Everett.

Dominic answered immediately, already hard at work.

The LGH comms team was containing the story, keeping it off the morning feeds.

‘I need you to erase the posts about Rowan and me, but leave Mira’s post alone,’ Ashton said.

‘Got it, boss.’

‘Find out if Gwendolyn’s been in contact with Rowan Hale. Check email, financials, anything that links them.’

‘On it,’ Dominic said.

‘Reginald, has he left for Africa yet?’

‘Not yet. The appointment’s official, but he’s been in hospital. The doctor said his old condition flared up again. They’ve got him on bed rest.’

‘What is it?’

‘Herniated disc.’

Ashton gave a short, derisive laugh. ‘He’s faking it.’

He didn’t need scans or records to know Reginald was dodging the Africa post.

Again.

Trying to stall until the end of the fiscal year.

Ashton had let it slide for a few weeks.

That had been enough.

Dominic asked, ‘Want me to push him to leave?’

Ashton thought about it. ‘No. Leave it for now.’

He checked the date.

Two more days of Mirabelle’s event.

The earliest she could fly back was Thursday.

They’d return together.

‘Dom, one more thing.’ Ashton gave his assistant some more instructions. ‘If anyone tries to bribe him for intel on the old man’s health, tell him to say he’s fine. Frail but fine. Expected to live another five to ten years.’

‘Got it, boss.’