I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 46 - 47 Ashton’s POV: Marriage Is Just Step One

Chapter 46: Chapter 47 Ashton’s POV: Marriage Is Just Step One

Cassian frowned. ‘Hold on. I visited you a couple times in Eindhoven. You never said you knew Mirabelle. I never even heard you mention her name.’

‘I didn’t know it was her,’ Ashton said.

All he remembered from that night was the woman—warm skin, steady arms—who must’ve figured out something was wrong with him.

She’d taken him to the hospital. Paid the bill.

Then disappeared.

‘When I woke up,’ Ashton said, ‘she was already gone.’

Cassian blinked. ‘So how the hell did you know it was her?’

‘I had my assistant look into it.’

The moment he saw the photo—Mirabelle Vance, design student at Eindhoven University—he knew.

That was her.

The girl from Florence.

The one with the quiet fire in her eyes.

Cassian leaned in, eyes gleaming. ‘And then? You tracked her down and asked her out?’

‘You got the first part right.’

He did track her down. Had to.

But he never approached her.

Not then.

There were too many eyes on him. Too many knives out.

He didn’t want her anywhere near the blast zone.

Then business exploded.

His life turned into airports, mergers, new markets.

By the time he could think about her again, she was back in Skyline City.

And engaged to Rhys bloody Granger.

Still, he couldn’t forget her.

Cassian drained his drink and slapped his own forehead. ‘Wait! So all those calls you made to me, pretending you cared about gossip—Skyline’s charity galas, who wore what, who was dating who—that was all about her?’

Ashton gave him a look. ‘Since when do you know me to give a shit about gossip?’

Cassian barked a laugh. ‘Ha. So you weren’t just nosing around Skyline’s corporate scene. You were low-key stalking Mirabelle.’

‘It wasn’t stalking.’

‘Right,’ Cassian drawled. ‘You landed back in Skyline less than twenty-four hours after I mentioned the rumours. Not suspicious at all.’

Ashton didn’t reply.

The moment Cassian told him what he’d heard—that things between Mirabelle and Rhys Granger were spiralling, that Granger had his eye on someone else, that he’d only proposed because his family twisted his arm—Ashton felt something crack open inside him.

Something dark and stupid and completely impossible to ignore.

She wasn’t happy.

She wasn’t living the glossy, charmed life he’d imagined.

And that changed everything.

He hadn’t planned on coming back.

He’d built a whole empire from scratch, all of it his own, none of it tainted by his family’s meddling hand.

But the second he heard Rhys Granger might be out of the picture, he was on the next flight back.

Everything that followed was scripted. Controlled. Calculated.

Mirabelle—sharp, lovely, frustratingly trusting—ended up married to him in less time than it took most people to choose a phone plan.

A few conversations, a little emotional pressure, and the perfect storm of heartbreak and rebound... boom. Married.

Of course, he knew she wasn’t over Granger. Not really.

He wasn’t an idiot.

She hadn’t married him because she loved him.

She’d married him because she was cornered, and he’d offered her a way out.

But love could be built. Brick by brick. Kiss by kiss.

He’d take the cracks Rhys left behind and fill them with gold if that’s what it took.

He didn’t care how long it took.

Cassian was two bottles deep and halfway through his third by the time it finally sank in—this wasn’t a prank.

Ashton Laurent, their resident forever-bachelor, had actually gone and got himself hitched.

Not fake-married. Not some stunt. Married-married.

The smug bastard didn’t stop at flashing the ring either.

He’d pulled out the marriage certificate like it was a business card.

Stamped, signed, government-issued.

Looked legit enough, at least to Cassian’s booze-blurred eyes.

‘Congrats, I guess,’ Cassian muttered. ‘If it makes you happy. You finally bagged the girl.’

Ashton clinked glasses with him. ‘I am happy.’

Cassian slapped a palm to his forehead. ‘Bloody hell, I knew something was off. You moved too fast! I didn’t even get to throw you a stag do.’

‘You know I don’t care about that sort of thing.’

‘Mate. It’s not for you. It’s for us—your mates—to gather and mourn your freedom. A symbolic send-off before you’re locked in the eternal tomb of marriage.’

Ashton just shrugged. ‘I’ll live.’

‘Yeah, but what about the wedding?’ Cassian waved a hand at the paper. ‘Sure, that cert looks all official, but you’re not about to flash it every time someone asks if you’re single. You need a reception.’

Ashton’s smile dipped. ‘There’s no wedding.’

Cassian squinted. ‘What, like... is that a new thing now? No ceremony? Not even a quiet one at City Hall with the fam?’

‘She doesn’t want a wedding.’

Cassian snorted. ‘Every girl wants a wedding. That’s literally what the industry was invented for.’

‘Maybe.’

Ashton remembered those bridal magazines stacked on Mirabelle’s kitchen counter in her old apartment.

The bookmarked dress pages.

The notes on flower combos.

She’d tossed everything out when she moved.

Cassian gave him a nudge, half-drunk. ‘You sure about the whole no wedding thing?’

‘Not for now.’

But there would be one.

That was the plan.

If he played his cards right—and didn’t piss her off too much in the meantime—there’d be vows.

There’d be flowers.

There’d be Mirabelle in white, walking toward him for real this time.

Cassian burped. Loudly. ‘No wedding, no gift, yeah? That’s how this works. No open bar, no obligation. I don’t get to chat up the bridesmaids, you don’t get a toaster.’

‘Fine. You’re off the hook for the gift.’ Ashton leaned forward. ‘But I need you to do something for me.’

Cassian perked up like a retriever. ‘Anything, bro.’

‘You’re a gossip.’

Cassian looked wounded. ‘Excuse you. I’m a high-end information distributor.’

‘Whatever. I need you to do your thing. Start leaking the news. Casual-like. When you’re chatting to people, just drop it in—“Oh, didn’t you hear? Ashton and Mirabelle got married. Someone saw them at the clerk’s office.” That sort of thing.’

Cassian blinked. ‘You want me to start a rumour? But I thought you wanted to keep it low profile. Hence no wedding.’

That wasn’t his call.

That was Mirabelle’s request.

No big splash, no media circus, no kiss-the-bride headlines.

Ashton had respected that.

But he needed her to start seeing this marriage not as a temporary contract, not as an expediency, but as real.

Permanent.

A done fucking deal.

He looked Cassian dead in the eye. ‘Just do it.’