I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

I headed upstairs and opened the first door I found.

A walk-in wardrobe.

The shelves were full. Not just stocked—stuffed.

Dresses, tops, sandals, a dozen different pairs of sunglasses.

All my sizes.

Every piece was something I’d actually wear.

I grabbed a pale green T-shirt from the rail and pulled on a pair of white trackies.

My hair was a mess from the flight, so I yanked it all up into a bun, tied it tight, and checked my reflection.

Casual. Clean. Sort of... annoyingly cheerful.

Whatever. Everyone at the airport looked like they were auditioning for a beach holiday.

I could try blending in for once.

Downstairs, I walked straight up to Ashton, spun once, then turned back around. ‘Well?’