I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

Next morning, I got up before the sun like a guilt-ridden teenager post-sneak-out.

There was no way Ashton hadn’t clocked the whole performance last night, and I was not about to sit across from him at breakfast pretending I was a normal, functional human.

So yeah, I tried to dip.

Sneaked downstairs, shoes in hand, bag swinging by my side.

But guess what?

He was already there.

Sitting on the sofa like the king of the business world.

Watching the news.

Calm.

Shirt rolled at the sleeves like a casual threat.

I nearly yeeted my handbag at his face.

‘You’re up early,’ I accused.