I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 37 - 38 Win-win

Chapter 37: Chapter 38 Win-win

I’d been stewing over it all day and still hadn’t decided.

Marriage wasn’t like picking a flavour of ice cream.

You couldn’t just go, ‘oops, not that one,’ and hit undo.

If Ashton were just Ashton, some guy with a decent job and a halfway-decent sense of humour, I might’ve jumped in headfirst.

But he wasn’t.

He was Ashton bloody Laurent.

As in Laurent Global Holdings, Laurent Towers, Laurent being-on-the-news-for-buying-a-small-country kind of Laurent.

While I was busy spiralling in my flat, Yvaine texted me in all caps: GET YOUR ASS OUT. WE’RE DRINKING. NO EXCUSES.

She didn’t need to shout, but whatever.

I could use a distraction.

And maybe a bit of tequila would kill my indecisive streak.

I threw on a loose red jumper and skinny jeans, then headed out.

Skyline had dipped to near-zero this week, but the bar was sweaty as hell.

Loud music, overpriced drinks, and enough perfume in the air to set off a fire alarm.

Yvaine slung her arm around my shoulders and leaned in, shouting over the bass: ‘Just the two of us is boring. Let’s order a few male hosts!’

I rolled my eyes. ‘Order some for yourself, babe. I’m good.’

She narrowed her eyes. ‘Wait. You’re in a mood. What happened?’

I took a sip—whisky sour, not bad—and muttered, ‘There’s something I need to decide. I can’t tell if doing it would be insane or just... impulsive.’

‘Please don’t tell me this is about Rhys again. If he shows up trying to “talk things out”, I swear to God, Mira, you must not cave, or I’ll disown you on the spot.’

‘It’s not about Rhys,’ I said, then paused. ‘Actually, random question—aren’t you kinda tight with that friend of Ashton’s? Cas or whatever?’

‘Cassian Langford?’ Her nose wrinkled. ‘He’s mates with my brother Emmett. Always hanging around the house like a stray. What about him?’

‘He’s friends with Ashton, right? Think you could casually fish around for me? Get some intel on Ashton?’

Her eyes went wide. ‘Why the hell are you digging into Ashton? Don’t you already know him, being fake-engaged to him and all? Why ask someone else about him? What exactly do you want to know?’

‘His dating history, maybe.’

‘Come again?’ She blinked like I’d glitched. ‘Why do you care about that? Wait—don’t tell me you’ve actually caught feelings? Wasn’t this whole engagement thing just pretend?’

‘Focus, gossip later. Just find out what you can.’

‘Fine, fine.’ She sighed. ‘I think I heard Cas say something the other day. Lemme call him.’

She disappeared into the loo with her phone and reappeared barely three minutes later.

‘Got the goods. Cassian says Ashton’s been hung up on some girl for years. Problem is, she’s got a boyfriend. He never had a shot, but apparently he’s still not over her. Hasn’t dated anyone else since.’

I stared at my drink, my fingers tightening around the glass.

So that was the ghost in his closet.

Yvaine went on. ‘But that was ages ago. Ashton went off to Europe, and Cas doesn’t exactly have eyes on his love life over there. So whatever intel he’s got could be totally outdated.’

‘Or he’s still not over her,’ I said, half to myself.

Yvaine gave me a long look. Then—bam—realisation hit.

Her face morphed into a cocktail of pity, sympathy, and full-body cringe.

‘Wait. Oh no. Honey, you’ve actually fallen for him? Are you serious? I mean, yeah, he’s hot. And richer than every ancestor I’ve got going back to the Bronze Age. But if he’s still hung up on someone else and you go chasing him... isn’t that just you and Rhys all over again?’

‘Exactly,’ I said.

And that was the point.

If Ashton was still pining for some long-lost ex, that just confirmed one thing—he wasn’t expecting anything from me.

Then this marriage was exactly what he said it was.

A cold, clean, no-strings deal.

‘If that’s the case,’ I muttered, ‘marrying him doesn’t sound too bad...’

Yvaine shrieked. ‘What marriage? Who the hell are you marrying?’

She didn’t even wait for me to answer. ‘Please tell me it’s not Rotten Rhys. Mira, babe, I swear, if you’re even thinking about going back to that sentient trash fire—’

‘It’s not him,’ I cut in. ‘It’s Ashton.’

Her jaw hit the floor.

She stared at me in mute horror for a full two minutes.

Just blinking. Processing.

Probably trying to remember if I’d hit my head recently.

Then finally: ‘You drunk? Did you eat something weird? Did Rhys spike your drink with stupid pills? You’re marrying Ashton Laurent? Like, for real real?’

I nodded. ‘Thinking about it.’

Yvaine reached out and felt my forehead like she was checking for a fever.

‘Darling, are you okay? Do we need to call someone? The Grangers have clearly scrambled your brain. You think you can just marry a Laurent like ordering a cake?’

I grabbed her wrist and gently lowered her hand.

‘Let me explain,’ I said, then walked her through the whole quickie marriage proposal situation.

The more I talked, the wider her mouth got.

By the time I was done, she looked like someone could’ve shoved a tennis ball in there and she wouldn’t even notice.

I reached over and gently shut her jaw for her.

‘That’s the deal. He came to me, not the other way round. I’m still thinking it through.’

Yvaine rebooted after about a minute of blank staring, then shot off the bar stool like her arse had caught fire and grabbed both my hands in a death grip.

‘What’s there to think through? Mira, don’t think, just do! Marry him tomorrow! He’s, like, a million times better than Rotten Rhys. There is literally no man in Skyline more gorgeous and loaded than Ashton fucking Laurent!’

I pulled her back down onto the stool.

‘Okay, calm the hell down. Marriage is still kind of a big deal, don’t you think? This feels... too fast.’

‘Fast is the new normal,’ she fired back. ‘Half the city’s out here getting hitched after three Tinder swipes. Say yes first, panic later. Worst case, you divorce. Best case, you get to stare at that face every morning over coffee. Win-win.’

Then she smirked, her whole expression going full perv. ‘And let’s be real, you marry him, things are bound to liven up in the bedroom. I mean, you’ve got first-hand experience, haven’t you? He probably fuc—’

I smacked the back of her head. ‘Jesus, get your brain out of the gutter!’

Yvaine dropped the act, her voice going serious.

‘Look, all jokes aside, Ashton’s solid, at least from what I’ve known about him so far. Plus, can you imagine Rhys’s face when he finds out you married a Laurent? He’ll have a fucking meltdown. I’ll throw a party just to rub it in.’

By the time we’d dissected every angle, drawn diagrams, and ranked Ashton’s abs on a ten-point scale (he scored twelve), I’d already made up my mind.

After work the next day, I was lying on my sofa like a corpse, clutching my phone.

I’d written and rewritten the damn message so many times, my thumbs were sore.

Every time I hovered over Send, I chickened out and hit backspace.

By the time the clock hit eight, I’d typed a whole novella and deleted all of it.

And then the lights cut out.

Dead. Black. Silent.

I just lay there blinking like, seriously?

My old apartment went dark every time someone sneezed too hard.

Now this one was on the same bullshit?

I shot upright and jabbed the property management number.

No answer.

Tried again.

Still nothing.

Third time—voicemail.

‘Brilliant,’ I muttered, already half-pissed.

Wasn’t Oakwood Apartments supposed to be under Laurent Global Holdings?

Ashton Laurent owned the place.

He even had a flat here, so unless he liked showering in the dark, he should’ve sorted this crap out ages ago.

I shoved on some fluffy slippers and padded out into the hallway.