I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

I could feel every single set of eyes on us.

Ashton was... well, Ashton.

He looked like a walking piece of art.

But not just beautiful.

Dangerous-beautiful.

Like one of those hyperrealistic 3D paintings of a cliff.

Stare too long and you start to feel the drop.

Me? I wasn’t bad either.

Maybe a little less angelic than him, but definitely more than presentable.

But I could tell it wasn’t the looks that had frozen the room.

It was the way I was linking arms with him—easy, intimate, completely unselfconscious.

Thanks to our multiple rehearsals (which, fine, had paid off), we didn’t look like a party fling.