I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

Rhys staggered backwards, arms flailing like someone had yanked the battery out of his spine.

Ashton didn’t let up.

While Rhys was still trying to figure out which direction gravity was pulling him, Ashton calmly slipped off his watch and shoved it into his pocket.

Then he cracked his neck and grabbed Rhys by the collar.

And started swinging.

One punch.

Then another.

And another.

Until I’d lost count.

Until Rhys was spitting blood and barely holding himself upright, body folding like wet cardboard.

And Ashton still wasn’t done.

He let Rhys drop like a sack of compost.