I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 227 - 228 A Cleanse

Chapter 227: Chapter 228 A Cleanse

‘Are you deranged?’ I couldn’t suppress my gag reflex. ‘I’m married. Happily. To a man who doesn’t cheat and doesn’t cry like a baby.’ I thrust my hand with the ring right under his eyeballs. ‘You and Catherine deserve each other. You two should never divorce. Keep your mess in-house.’

He grabbed my hand.

I yanked it back so hard my shoulder twinged. ‘Don’t touch me!’

‘Ashton doesn’t love you! I saw him, from a post, all over some actress outside a hotel. You must have seen it too. You think that guy’s loyal? You think he’s going to stick around?’

‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m not—’

‘You are. You read it in some gossip rag and decided it was true because it made you feel better about your own pathetic shit.’

His mouth opened again.

‘You walking out or am I calling the cops?’

His face twisted. ‘You really feel nothing for me?’

He sounded on the verge of tears.

His eyes, on top of being swollen, were also red-rimmed.

He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, or had a shower.

‘Priya, call the police,’ I shouted.

Rhys suddenly doubled over, clutching his stomach. ‘Don’t.’

He sank into a squat, sweat breaking out across his forehead.

A thick vein bulged near his temple.

His mouth hung slack.

Priya and I exchanged a look.

‘I’ve got stomach cramps,’ Rhys croaked. ‘Got into it with Daniel earlier. It flared up again.’

He slid closer and reached towards my ankle. ‘It fucking hurts.’

I stepped around him before he got close.

My heel clipped the edge of his hand.

‘Not my problem if you start convulsing. You have a phone. Call an ambulance.’

‘No, no hospital. I just need somewhere to lie down... Could you grab something from the pharmacy...?’

‘No.’

I shot Priya a look and telegraphed a message: [Drag him out. Gently.]

She winced. [Seriously?]

[Seriously.]

I would have done it myself, except I didn’t want to touch Rhys.

Priya shuffled over, crouched, and got an arm under him.

He groaned weakly.

She pulled like she was dragging a corpse.

It was a mess of limbs and wheezing, but she got him to the door.

He straightened up halfway there, suddenly stable enough to walk.

He glanced back at me. ‘Knew you still cared.’

‘I care about not having a corpse in my studio. Go die on the pavement. At least that’s public property.’

Priya shoved him onto the kerb and hurried back in.

‘I don’t think he was faking,’ she muttered. ‘He looked like he was actually in pain. What now?’

‘Call an ambulance. Just in case.’

‘On it.’

The sirens came quickly, and the medics loaded him in.

Priya and I cleared up the rest of the mess.

Within fifteen minutes, the place looked normal again, not ready for business yet, but at least it no longer looked like a tornado had visited.

I stretched out my arms, shoulders stiff, back aching. ‘Two smash-ups in less than a week. Maybe it’s time to shut this place down.’

I wasn’t joking.

The thought of closing the studio, at least for a while, had been circling for days.

The competition collection had done well, sold out quickly.

Now the hype had cooled, and the orders weren’t pouring in anymore.

The celeb commissions I’d taken on were nearly finished.

What was left could be wrapped up by Priya.

No reason to keep dragging it out.

I sighed and glanced around the space.

The dent in the doorframe was patched, but I couldn’t stop seeing it.

After giving Priya the rest of the day off, I grabbed my keys and left.

There was nothing urgent left to do, and I needed something with sugar and butter for a mood boost.

I headed to Yvaine’s new pâtisserie, parked illegally, and ducked inside.

No sign of her behind the counter.

I ordered a lemon tart and a black coffee, found a table by the window, and rang her.

‘Didn’t you say you’d be at the shop all week? It’s launch week. Where the hell are you?’

‘You’re there?’ Yvaine sounded surprised. ‘I’m at the dance studio with Cade. He’s rehearsing.’

‘What? His doctor literally said no heavy movement.’

‘Yeah, well, try telling him that. He’s being stubborn. The show starts filming right after the holidays. All the contestants can sing and dance. He’s solid vocally, but the dancing’s where he’s shaky. He’s trying to catch up before taping starts.’

‘But it’s a bone injury. He shouldn’t be pushing it. That stuff takes months to heal.’

‘He’s fine,’ Yvaine said brightly. ‘He’s young, he heals fast. And I’m keeping an eye on him, he’s not going to drop dead mid-step. Anyway, you came all the way to the shop to find me? What’s up?’

‘I just needed sugar,’ I muttered. ‘Today’s been a mess. Thought I’d swing by, say hi, maybe steal a croissant if you weren’t looking. Since you’re off playing dance mum, I’ll finish my tart and head out.’

‘What happened?’

I told her.

She swore loud enough to make my phone rattle. ‘That’s ridiculous. And that’s twice in one week.’

‘Exactly what I was thinking. Apparently my bad luck’s trending.’

‘Mira, that is not normal. You need a cleanse.’

‘You mean like a spa?’

‘No. A spiritual cleanse. Psychic stuff.’

I blinked at the window.

A pigeon landed on the sill and stared at my tart.

‘Since when are you into all that?’ I waved at the pigeon; it didn’t wave back.

‘Since I started sleeping with someone who burns sage before bed.’

‘Right. Hard pass.’

‘Don’t knock it till you’ve been to her. She’s legit. Told me I’m marrying someone five years younger in four years. Said it’s a spring wedding. April, specifically.’

‘Was your hot young boyfriend standing in the room when she said that?’