I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

Preston saw me hesitate and shoved down on my shoulder again.

I gripped the edge of the table, ready to throw a plate at him, but then he bent low beside my ear.

‘Relax,’ he whispered. ‘Maxwell can’t get it up. He can’t do anything. Just sit still and look pretty.’

I stared at him.

He stepped back.

I turned slowly and looked at Maxwell again.

His lips were parted in a sticky grin.

His skin looked waxy. His eyelids drooped. He blinked slow.

The man probably couldn’t climb a flight of stairs without collapsing.

I sat.

Preston’s hand lifted from my shoulder.

He moved around the table, filled a glass for Maxwell, poured a second for himself, then said, ‘This is Mr Gary Maxwell, Senior VP of Corporate Procurement. This is my cousin, Mirabelle Vance.’