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

It sliced through the tension like someone’d just popped a balloon in a silent church.


The kid couldn’t have been more than seven.


She wore a daffodil-yellow dress speckled with tiny white blossoms and had pigtails so neatly braided they looked vacuum-sealed.


She looked right back at him, completely unbothered by the fact that every single adult was now gaping at her.


A woman bolted to her side and slapped a hand gently over the girl’s mouth.


‘Don’t talk nonsense, Freya,’ the woman hissed, frantic. ‘You don’t know anything.’


She forced a shaky smile in Ashton’s direction. ‘She’s just a kid. She doesn’t understand—’


The woman’s lips kept twitching like she wanted to protest, but all she could do was shut up and move to the side.


Freya jabbed a finger straight at Isobel.


Chapter 93 Ashton’s POV: Punishment