I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis
Chapter 88 - 89 Old Enemy, New Threat

Chapter 88: Chapter 89 Old Enemy, New Threat

I tilted my head, smirking at her. ‘So, how’s life abroad been treating you? Since you’re back in town, I’m guessing your family’s decided to un-disown you?’

Isobel’s grin wavered, freezing for a heartbeat before she caught herself. ‘Fine. Not that it’s any of your business. FYI, my family treats me like the queen I am.’

‘Oh, really? Like a queen? That’s why they shipped you off with a single suitcase and no return ticket?’

She stomped her heel, but the tip bounced off the concrete by the pool, making her wince.

Then she stepped closer, invading my space. ‘What are you even doing here?’

‘I could ask you the same thing.’

‘I’m a friend of the Laurents. Engaged to one, actually.’

‘Oh? I’m married to one.’

Surely everyone with at least one functioning ear must have heard about me and Ashton by now.

Isobel was just being her usual petty, self-important self.

Her eyes flashed.

She stepped in again, and I jabbed a finger towards her chest.

‘Don’t get any closer. That knockoff Chanel stench is triggering my gag reflex.’

She glared but remained where she was.

‘I didn’t think you had it in you to snag Ashton Laurent.’ The sneer might be fake, but the jealousy in her voice could not be disguised. ‘Damn, girl. Gotta hand it to you. Heard Rhys Granger dumped your ass, but now I’m thinking it was the other way round. Bet you ditched him for an upgrade.’

I didn’t answer.

No point dignifying that with a response.

‘I always knew you aimed high,’ she went on. ‘You never dated in high school. Everyone thought you were just a stuck-up nerd. But I knew better. You weren’t wasting that pretty face and perky rack on boys who still lived off their mum’s credit cards. And look where it’s got you—married to the golden goose. Must’ve taken a hell of a lot of effort to get Ashton into bed, huh?’

My patience cracked. ‘What the hell do you want, Isobel?’

‘Nothing major,’ she said, tone turning ice-cold. ‘I just want you to keep your mouth shut.’

‘About what? About how you ruled the school with your little mean-girl dictatorship? How you got your arse handed to you for weeks after the winter dance and dropped out like a coward?’

Her eyes shot wide. ‘So you’re admitting it! You were the one who jumped me!’

I shrugged. ‘I admit nothing. Just recapping what everyone at school knew.’

‘It had to be you!’ she hissed. ‘Only you had—’

‘What? A motive? Don’t flatter yourself. You made enemies like it was a full-time job. If I lined up everyone who wanted a swing at you, I’d need to rent out a whole city block just to manage the queue.’

Isobel floundered, mouth half open, eyes blazing.

She’d never admit it, but the years abroad must have changed her.

Something had knocked the edges off, sanded down the queen-bitch arrogance.

When she spoke again, her voice was noticeably softer.

‘Anyway, I didn’t come here to reminisce,’ she said, trying for a more reasonable tone. ‘Quentin and I are getting engaged soon. I’m hoping the past can stay in the past, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention... anything to him about me.’

‘I just might,’ I said, purely out of spite, though I’d never laid eyes on Quentin before.

Colour rose in her cheeks.

Isobel gripped her handbag. ‘Don’t. Please.’

‘What’s in it for me?’ I asked, just for the hell of it.

Her eyes widened. ‘Are you blackmailing me? You want money?’ She was part incredulous, part scornful. ‘You’re married to the richest man in the city—hell, maybe in the country. Why would you need my money?’

‘I don’t want your money. I want you to go to the police and admit it was you who hired that thug, you who spiked my drink.’

‘No,’ she refused flatly.

‘Then no deal.’ I turned to walk away.

‘Wait!’ She scrambled forward a step. ‘Come on, for old time’s sake!’

I looked back over my shoulder. ‘We don’t have old times. And if we did, I should probably kick your arse for them. But lucky for you, I’ve mellowed with age.’

‘Come on!’ she whined. ‘I’m not asking you to do anything. I’m literally asking you to NOT do anything.’

When I didn’t respond, she dropped the sugar-coated act.

‘I won’t say anything if you don’t.’

I raised an eyebrow. ‘What have you even got to say?’

‘Plenty.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like how you used to moon over Rhys like some tragic little fangirl. I saw you doodling his name in your sketchpad. Don’t even bother denying it.’ She crossed her arms, her cleavage pushed up and on full display. ‘You wouldn’t want your current husband to know you were obsessed with another man, would you?’

I snorted. ‘Please. Everyone within a hundred-mile radius knew about me and Rhys. Ashton included. If that’s your big ace, you’re welcome to tell him. See what happens.’

The smugness slipped from her face.

She could tell I wasn’t bluffing, and panic flickered in her eyes.

‘You know,’ I said casually, twisting the blade just a little, ‘I wasn’t even going to say anything. But the more you beg, the more tempting it becomes. And if you really are marrying Quentin... well, that would make us in-laws of some miserable sort. Imagine having to see you at Christmas dinners. Ugh, no thanks. I’d better go warn Quentin.’

‘You wouldn’t.’ Her voice dropped an octave, threatening now.

‘Wouldn’t I?’ I stepped towards her. ‘I don’t know what kind of man Quentin is, but I doubt any Laurent would want to marry a schoolyard bully. A mean girl turned social climber. People don’t change, Isobel. Leopards don’t sprout stripes. What if you have kids and raise a bunch of little bullies just like Mummy? I’d be doing Quentin a favour.’

‘Mirabelle Vance!’ she snapped. ‘Don’t think that just because you’ve got Ashton Laurent wrapped around your little finger, I can’t hurt you anymore.’