Jessica C. Dolan

Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé.
Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now—billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn’t mind. I’d crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one?
Wrong.
One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That’s when it hit me—he didn’t love me. He didn’t even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn’t even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup.
So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster—my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise.
Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol.
Enter him.
Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I’d met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes.
It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised.
But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life.
And, as it turned out, the best decision I’d ever made.
Because my one-night stand isn’t just some random guy. He’s richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with.
And now, he’s not letting me go.

I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

His voice snapped me out of my mental spiral.


‘What?’ I blinked at him, brain still buffering.


Ashton gave me a quick side glance. ‘Earlier. At the hospital. Did he… hurt you?’


Rhys practically lived at the gym, probably had protein shakes for blood. If he’d landed a hit, I’d be scraping bits of myself off the floor with a dustpan.


I added, softer this time, ‘Thank you.’


He didn’t say ‘you’re welcome.’


Instead, his grip on the steering wheel went full Incredible Hulk—veins popping like they were auditioning for a fitness ad.


‘That was your ex-fiancé?’ he finally asked, voice low.


He looked like he had about seven things he wanted to say and none of them were polite enough for public consumption. In the end, he just nodded and stared straight ahead.


The rest of the drive was silent. Not awkward-silent, just... broody.


Chapter 18 One Step Further