I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 234 - 235 Critical Condition

Chapter 234: Chapter 235 Critical Condition

She didn’t answer straight away.

Her shoulders hunched slightly, like she’d been carrying too many bags too long.

‘I don’t know. Ever since Elmridge, he’s had this thing in his head about me and Cassian. I explained it a hundred times, but it stuck. He doesn’t trust me. Today just tipped him over.’

Yvaine sighed again, louder this time. ‘I’m such a mess right now. I’ve got no clue what I’m doing. I look at you and Ashton, and it just seems so easy. You two are all wrapped up in each other without all this drama.’

I didn’t respond.

Because all she saw was the polished surface.

Ashton and I weren’t simple, not even close.

There was still that woman, the one who came before me, still lingering in his past like a smudge I couldn’t scrub off.

I needed answers. Tonight, if I could actually get a moment alone with him.

But for the next few days, he was buried at work, barely sleeping.

Every night, I went to bed alone.

Every morning, I woke up to an empty house.

We weren’t in the same room for more than ten seconds with both awake.

***

Most of the house staff were off for Presidents’ Day.

Only Geoffrey and Carmen stayed behind.

I lingered in the sunroom, scrolling through ring settings on my tablet and pretending not to notice the time until my stomach started complaining.

As soon as we sat down for lunch, Ashton’s phone rang.

He answered with one hand still on his fork, but the moment he heard the voice on the other end, his whole expression changed.

‘What happened?’ I asked the moment he hung up.

‘The hospital. It’s Edouard. They don’t think he’ll make it through the night. Everyone’s already on their way.’

I dropped my spoon. ‘Then let’s go. Now.’

I pushed back from the table and ran upstairs to change.

We didn’t speak in the car, just stared through the windscreen while traffic crawled along like molasses.

The roads were jammed, every junction gridlocked.

Ashton’s hands gripped the wheel at ten and two, his face set in granite.

It took us an hour to cover what usually took twenty minutes.

The lift opened onto a racket: heels clicking, people talking over each other, perfume clashing with the sharp tang of antiseptic.

The moment Ashton stepped out, the noise dipped.

He walked straight past the crowd.

‘Ashton! Finally.’

‘It’s bad. Real bad.’

‘No one expected this. On Presidents’ Day, of all days...’

He ignored them, pushed through the corridor and disappeared into the ward.

I stayed outside.

Through the glass, I saw two nurses and a doctor clustered around the bed, working fast.

Wires dangled off machines, lights flashing red.

Ashton stood to the side, arms folded, silent.

I moved to a quiet corner near the drinks machine.

Everyone else jostled by the door, craning their necks, muttering and pacing, their mouths drawn tight.

‘Ashton’s late. Edouard’s barely hanging on, and he strolls in like it’s nothing. Arrogant little prick.’

‘He’s never cared. Everyone knows they barely spoke. Probably counting down to the inheritance.’

I could’ve ignored it; should’ve.

But they brought up Ashton, and that was enough.

I pushed off the wall, walked straight over, and planted myself between them.

‘What, you think standing here talking rubbish makes you helpful? You gonna scrub in? Start CPR through the glass? Half of you didn’t even know Edouard’s birthday until the invites went out, but look at you now. All lined up like it’s a damn family portrait.’

Silence hit hard.

All eyes turned to me.

The man who’d been doing most of the talking, mid-fifties, thinning hair, too much gel, gave me the once-over like I’d wandered in by mistake.

‘Who the hell are you?’

I threw it right back at him. ‘Who the hell are you, acting like you’ve got the right to talk rubbish about Ashton?’

He flinched like I’d smacked him. ‘You’ve got some nerve, young woman.’

Someone off to the side muttered, ‘That’s Ashton’s wife. They came up together. You didn’t see?’

His eyes narrowed.

He looked again, slower this time, but no less condescending.

‘So what? My uncle is Edouard’s cousin-in-law. That makes me your senior. You don’t get a say here.’

‘That makes you a what, a fifth cousin twice removed? That’s not even blood. I’m pretty good with faces, and I don’t recall you showing up at Edouard’s birthday party. But now you’re here, front row. You care about his health?’ I sneered. ‘Or just his wealth?’

His face turned pink.

‘He’s sick because of the way you lot treated him. You and your husband Ashton have been negligent. If I’d known it was this serious, I’d have taken care of poor old Edouard myself.’

‘Would you? Are you saying that you’d look after him better than his own sons and grandsons, and that earns you a better spot in the will?’

He said nothing.

No one else did either.

Gwendolyn finally stepped in once she realised the man wasn’t going to take me down a peg like she’d hoped.

‘Let’s all take a breath. Edouard’s still in critical care. Everyone’s anxious, I get it, but let’s not turn the corridor into a circus.’

People went quiet.

As Edouard’s daughter-in-law, she had enough pull to make that happen.

No one challenged her.

They just shifted uncomfortably and went back to peering through the glass panel in the ICU door.

I could see it in their faces, the quick mental calculations.

How much they’d get.

Whether Edouard would make it through the night.

Who he’d leave the estate to.

Who he wouldn’t.

The lift dinged.

Marlowe stepped out, alone.

Someone near the front pointed. ‘Is that Ed’s lawyer?’

A woman in pearls elbowed forward. ‘Is the will done? Do you have it with you?’

Another man shoved in, eyeing the briefcase. ‘Can you just tell us what it says? Just a rough idea?’