I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

Ashton walked down the hallway.

Loose black button-down, matching trousers, sleeves pushed up to the elbow.

Nothing flashy, but you couldn’t miss him.

He had a beige cashmere wrap tossed over one arm, which he draped over my shoulders.

Then he took my hands and rubbed them between his palms. His fingers were warm.

‘You’re freezing. Why didn’t you wear something warmer?’

‘I’m fine.’ I pulled the wrap closer and gave him a quick smile. ‘Just wanted to get some air.’

‘Doctor ordered bed rest. Come on.’

‘Alright.’ I took his offered arm.

‘Hey!’ Rhys, who’d been ignored until now, finally piped up.

Ashton spared him a glance.

Rhys backed up half a step, instinctively.