I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 38 - 39 Ashton’s POV: Close the Deal

Chapter 38: Chapter 39 Ashton’s POV: Close the Deal

When Mirabelle knocked, Ashton was rinsing grime off his hands.

He’d just been down in the stairwell, flipping the main breaker.

Manufactured blackout.

It wasn’t an original move, but it was effective.

Three days.

He’d given her three whole days to respond.

She hadn’t.

He was already losing his mind.

He’d spent the entire day in the office glued to his phone.

Every notification made his pulse spike, but none of the messages was from her.

Cassian had asked him out for drinks that evening but he shut it down.

He was too restless, too wired.

Having wrapped his work early, he drove straight to Oakwood Apartments.

He knew she was in her flat, but if she wouldn’t come to him, then...

He cut the power.

A minute later, he was in the stairwell, fiddling with the fuse box while she held up her phone as a torch.

A few seconds later, the lights snapped back on.

‘Thanks!’ Mirabelle sounded relieved. ‘I’ll go check if everything’s okay.’

‘Just a minute.’ Ashton turned. ‘Miss Vance, have you made up your mind?’

She blinked.

The hallway lights lit up the hesitation on her face as he closed the distance.

She stepped back instinctively.

He still towered over her, close enough to catch the way her lashes fluttered.

The way she chewed her bottom lip as if it could help her decide.

Christ. That mouth.

He remembered exactly how it tasted, that night in the hotel room.

He remembered how it had moaned through clenched teeth, how it had gone slack when she came.

It hadn’t said his name, though.

That was the one imperfection in an otherwise flawless night.

She hadn’t known who he was then.

She would now.

Ashton clenched his jaw and forced the thought away.

Getting hard in a goddamn hallway wasn’t the plan.

Neither was terrifying her into running.

She already looked like she might bolt if he so much as breathed too loud.

So he stayed still.

Pretending like he hadn’t memorised every expression she made in bed.

Pretending like he wasn’t picturing her up against the door, saying his name like a prayer.

‘I-I’m still thinking...’ she muttered.

Ashton tilted his head down, his voice inches from her crown. ‘I’m done waiting. Give me a yes tonight.’

Mirabelle looked up so fast she nearly broke his jaw.

‘It’s just a contract, Miss Vance. A mutually beneficial one.’ He let the words hang for a beat, then added: ‘There’s no conjugal duty.’

Not unless you want it.

That part he kept to himself—along with the very vivid image of her flat on his bed, breathless, begging, screaming his name until her throat gave out.

He’d bet his entire portfolio she sounded just as perfect wrecked as she did sarcastic.

Out loud, he was cool, clinical.

‘We’ll need to keep up appearances in public. Galas, fundraisers, the occasional magazine cover. You’d have to play the part—my wife. I get that’s a burden. Might eat into your personal time... maybe even your dating life.’

His jaw flexed at that.

Imagining her on someone else’s arm made something dark rise in his throat, but he shoved it down.

‘So here’s my offer,’ he said. ‘At the end of one year, you get ten million. Compensation for your time, your social life, your... inconvenience. If it works, we extend. For the second year, fifteen million. Third year, twenty. Escalating terms. Entirely optional. No strings if you walk after the first.’

He leaned back slightly, giving her space he didn’t want to give.

His voice stayed measured.

His pulse didn’t.

‘Ten... million?’ Her voice cracked. ‘As in dollars?’

He cocked a brow. ‘Too low? I can bump it up to—’

‘Nope! No! That’s... fine! Totally fine!’ She was waving her hands like she was trying to flag down a plane.

‘So this works for you?’ he pressed.

A pause.

Then, very softly, ‘It works.’

He released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

‘Good. Then we’re registering the marriage tomorrow.’

‘Wh-what? Tomorrow?!’ she gasped, voice shooting up an octave. ‘Don’t you think that’s a bit fast?’

‘My grandfather is dying. He wants to see me settled before he...’ Ashton layered in just enough grief to make it sound real, though he didn’t feel a damn thing.

‘Oh.’

Then he tacked on, deadpan: ‘Hope you understand, Miss Vance. Bit of a time crunch.’

‘R-right... yeah. Totally get it.’

‘Great. We’re registering the marriage tomorrow.’

Mirabelle blinked. ‘Um... I guess, yeah, let’s do it. But aren’t there preparations to make?’

‘I’ve already submitted my application. I can upload yours in under two minutes. You just need your ID.’

He patted his pocket.

The $35 cash for the marriage license had been living there since the first time he met her back in Skyline City—just in case the credit card system glitched the day he dragged her to the City Clerk’s Office.

‘But isn’t there a waiting period?’ she asked.

‘I’ll get a judicial waiver.’

‘And a witness?’

‘I’ll bring one.’

Or twelve.

He wasn’t taking chances.

Mirabelle looked at him, a bit dazed. ‘You’ve really thought of everything.’

‘I have.’

‘Then... I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning?’

‘I’ll pick you up at eight.’

The City Clerk’s Office opened at 8:30, but traffic was unpredictable, and there might be couples ahead of them.

He made a mental note to call Dominic and have them bumped to the top of the list.

‘Right. Then... good night,’ she said, still looking like she’d just been hit by a very polite, very expensive bus.

But Ashton wasn’t done. ‘That’s the legal bit. Now, about the wedding—’

She spun. ‘Wait. There’s a wedding? Like, reception and all?’

‘Isn’t that tradition? I was thinking reception at The Plaza right after the City Clerk’s, then—’

‘Whoa. Slow down.’ She raised a hand like she was directing traffic. ‘That’s way too soon. Weddings take months to plan.’

‘I see. You don’t want to rush it. So, postpone the reception a few months? That way you can send out invites, arrange flowers—’

‘No,’ she cut in. ‘I mean maybe... no reception. At all. This is mostly for your grandfather, right? The certificate should be enough. And this ends in a year. No point splurging on a big wedding.’

‘Oh.’ He masked his disappointment. ‘No reception, then.’

‘Right.’

They said goodnight.

He kissed her. Featherlight. Restrained.

Which was a goddamn miracle, considering he wanted to slam her against the door and kiss her until she forgot her own name.

After she shut the door, he checked the time.

Still a few things to set in motion if he wanted tomorrow to run like clockwork.

There was only a registration. No wedding.

Fine. It was a minor setback.

But she’d change her mind. Sooner or later.

He’d make sure of it.