I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

Ashton’s hand moved in slow, careful strokes against my back, and after a couple of minutes that felt like twenty, my spine finally stopped trying to eject itself.

Weird detail to notice, but I liked how soft his shirt was.

And how he smelled—clean, expensive, with a faint, woody edge that calmed me down without making a show of it.

I liked it.

And I was starting to like the hug, too.

It was just beginning to feel cosy until Ashton opened his mouth.

‘Still too stiff. If you’re this awkward with me when no one else is around, you’ll never fool the people at the party.’

Google seaʀᴄh ɴoᴠel Fɪre.nᴇt

Excuse me?

I thought I’d already relaxed enough.

If I were any more relaxed, I’d be in a bloody coma.

What was wrong with the hug? Not intimate enough?

I tightened my arms around him like I was trying to crack his ribs, then buried my face deeper into his chest.