I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

I was grateful Ashton had taken over the company. I was.

But staying here like this—being the face of the brand, walking around with a title that didn’t belong to me—it was already messing with my head.

I hadn’t designed a single new piece since the buyout.

My ideas felt second-guessed before they even reached the sketchpad.

While I was debating whether I could fake an allergy to the paint fumes and flee, my phone buzzed.

Bank notification. Another two million had landed.

Monthly transfer, on schedule.

I hadn’t even used the last batch.

Okay, I had bought some clothes, a few handbags. That was it.

Add the ten million Ashton had wrangled out of his father and evil stepmother back at that birthday dinner, and my account was now sitting pretty at just under fifteen million.

I stared at the number.

My fingers started moving before my brain caught up.