I Slapped My Fiancé—Then Married His Billionaire Nemesis

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.

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.

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.

Breakup Over A Damn Mug

Cracks！

My fiancé hit me.

Three minutes ago, I had been daydreaming about how to decorate our ridiculously expensive penthouse apartment, where every corner looked like it belonged on the cover of a magazine.

Two minutes ago, I accidentally broke a mug.

Then, Rhys slapped me across the face—hard.

My cheek burned like it had been seared by fire. It took a full thirty seconds before my brain restarted, slowly piecing reality back together.

“Are you fucking insane?” I gritted my teeth, forcing the words through the cracks of my jaw.

Rhys’s lips were pressed into a cold, tight line, his expression dark and resolute. “It was just a mug with Katherine’s face on it,” he said, like my reaction was an overblown performance, not the result of something horrifying he had just done.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” I stared at him in disbelief, chest heaving as rage and humiliation churned violently inside me, ready to explode.

For half a second—just half—something like guilt flickered across his face. Then it vanished, consumed by a storm of fury.

“No, you’re the insane one!” he roared. “I already agreed to marry you—what more do you want? Katherine’s gone, but you still broke that mug on purpose!”

His voice trembled with anger. “She was your sister! She had to leave because of you! And now you're jealous of her? You won’t rest until every trace of her is erased, will you?”

The hatred in his eyes cut deeper than the slap.

My cheek throbbed. My hand was still bleeding. But nothing hurt more than my heart.

I forced myself to unclench my jaw and made one last attempt to explain. “It wasn’t me. I never asked her to leave.”

Technically speaking, I understood why someone might