I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

I slapped Ashton’s hand before he could get to his phone.

‘Okay, no. Let the cops deal with it. You’ve already gone full Godfather once tonight.’

I wasn’t saying I didn’t want Rhys to suffer.

I did.

I just wasn’t willing to risk Ashton catching a charge for it.

When they dragged him off, Rhys already looked half-dead—blood all over his mouth, shirt soaked like something out of a bad crime doc.

‘Rhys isn’t worth going to prison for,’ I said to Ashton, in case he got the wrong idea again.

He exhaled heavily. ‘Fine. I’ll leave the police to handle it. How’s your wrist?’

I rotated my wrist and winced. Damn Rhys and his gym strength.

I didn’t say anything, but Ashton saw the sweat beading at my temple.

‘Right. Hospital. Now.’

I grumbled, ‘It’s not that bad. I’ll live. It’s late. Too much trouble to go to the hospital.’