I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

I floated.

Not in water. Not anymore.

But my limbs felt loose, weightless, like gravity had forgotten me.

I drifted in and out of sleep, memories slipping through the cracks.

Ashton’s arms. The sting of pool water against my skin.

A towel. A bed. Sleep. But not for long.

Then the blur of movement—his chest under my cheek, the lurch of a car.

I was somewhere else after that. Multiple voices, hands on my forehead and wrist, an electronic beep, receding footsteps, then a different kind of quiet. Cooler air. Sterile, sharp.

A hospital. I knew the smell.

At some point, something slid into my arm. A tube. IV fluid dripping, seeping into my bloodstream.

Cold trickled in. I shivered in relief.

There were voices again. One of them soft, tight with worry.