I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 238 - 239 His Proposal

Chapter 238: Chapter 239 His Proposal

I frowned. ‘Who brings their husband to work?’

‘Don’t think of me as your husband. Think of me as your assistant.’

I considered it. ‘Fine.’

He kicked the covers up and dragged them over both of us. ‘Come back to bed, it’s still early.’

I tucked myself against his chest, curled into the space under his chin.

I hadn’t even shut my eyes when I felt his hand sliding down my back.

The nap never happened.

It was as if Ashton had just discovered that stamina was a competitive sport and I was the trophy.

Soon, I was sore everywhere, and my spine had melted into the mattress.

Then he started again.

I clawed at his chest, eyes blurred. ‘I can’t. Ashton, please—’

‘Okay,’ he muttered, but his pace didn’t slow. At all.

By the time he stopped, I couldn’t tell if I was breathing or hallucinating.

Everything buzzed.

My brain lagged behind my body like it needed a reboot.

I was barely conscious when I felt him take my hand.

I blinked blearily and watched him slip my ring off.

In his other hand was another ring, one I hadn’t seen before.

My head cleared just enough to choke out: ‘What are you doing?’

‘The first one was custom, but it was rushed.’ He held the new ring higher. ‘This one’s from the same designer, but done with more time and thought. I wanted it right.’

The band was platinum, narrow, clean-lined.

A row of tiny diamonds circled it, sharp and bright.

The centre stone was round, larger, set low.

Light scattered across the duvet in narrow streaks, blinking off the wall.

My eyes stung, from the light and from the tears.

My throat tightened. ‘Why?’

He was half-kneeling in front of the bed. ‘Because I want to ask you properly this time. Will you marry me?’

My fingers clenched the duvet. ‘So this is... a proposal?’

‘Yeah.’

‘We’re already married.’

‘That wasn’t real. You had your reasons. So did I. But none of it was clean. I want to fix it. You never got a real proposal. Or a wedding. You deserve both. So...’ He looked into my eyes. ‘Will you?’

He stayed there, holding the ring up like a reverent offering.

My vision blurred.

I reached up and brushed my fingertips against the edge of the band.

Then my hand jerked back and I shoved it under the covers.

His brow pulled tight. ‘What’s wrong?’

I rubbed the spot where the ring had touched. ‘We need to talk.’

It sounded ominous, even to my own ears.

‘What is it?’ Ashton’s expression told me he felt the same way.

I hesitated, lips dry. ‘There was a woman, someone who.... You’ve been in love with her for a long time, haven’t you? It was before you came back to Skyline.’

The second I said it, I felt both lighter and heavier.

Finally, I’d gotten it off my chest.

But saying it out loud didn’t make it better.

It made it worse.

A wistful look came into Ashton’s eyes.

It softened all his facial features.

His eyes crinkled with a genuine smile, like whatever he was thinking of had brought him real joy.

And it brought me real pain.

The nod he gave was without hesitation. ‘Yeah.’

I’d prepared myself.

Still, it felt like I’d been kicked in the ribs.

I forced my expression steady. ‘What’s she like?’

‘She’s—’ He paused.

The look he gave me was surprise mixed with confusion, like he didn’t understand why I would ask that.

He swallowed whatever he was about to say and instead asked, ‘What do you think she’s like?’

Why would he ask me that?

The man had just proposed to me less than two minutes ago, and now he didn’t even look the slightest bit embarrassed talking about his ex-flame.

Was he that thick-skinned, or was I missing something?

I recalled what little intel I’d gathered from Daniel. ‘She’s a dancer, from Wessexia. Isn’t she?’

‘What?’ Ashton shot to his feet.

The baffled look on his face must have mirrored my own.

We stared at each other.

He finally exhaled hard. ‘Where the hell did you hear that? That’s—Jesus, that’s not even close. What dancer? There’s no such person.’

‘There isn’t?’ I blinked. ‘But... you just admitted there was someone. Someone you’ve been in love with for years. If it’s not the dancer, then who—’

‘No.’ He spun around and started pacing.

It was rare to see him this agitated.

He paused abruptly in front of me, leaned down close until all I could see was his face.

‘The person I’ve been in love with this whole damn time is you!’

‘Me?’ I searched his eyes, saw nothing but my own reflection and his absolute conviction.

Now I wanted to pace.

‘I’m not talking about now,’ I said. ‘I meant before. Before we got married. Before we knew each other.’

‘I’m talking about before too!’

‘So there was never a dancer in Wessexia?’

‘No.’

‘You didn’t marry me because you couldn’t have the woman you actually wanted, and needed a stand-in—’

‘Fuck, no!’ He looked like he was about to combust.

He spun in another tight circle.

‘Tell me, who told you this? Who made up that bullshit about some dancer? Who is out there writing me a fake love life?’

Okay, we definitely had our wires crossed.

‘Was it Gwendolyn?’ He fired names off like they were on a hit list. ‘My father? Geoffrey? Dominic? Yvaine? Rhys? Or was it Cassian?’

‘Calm down,’ I said quickly.

‘It had to be Cassian.’ He yanked his phone off the charger. ‘He’s the only one who knew how long I’ve felt this way about you. Of course he’d twist it. Typical bloody Langford, inventing some ballerina out of nowhere.’

‘It wasn’t him!’ I lunged up, legs still tangled in the sheets, trying to grab his arm. ‘Don’t call him. Ashton, don’t—’

Too late.

The call connected.