One Night Stand With My Ex's Billionaire Enemy-Chapter 56 Fists Speak Louder

Yvaine had just dumped the pics into half a dozen group chats without a single caption.

Then her gang kicked off their performance like it was rehearsed.

Voices up, filters off.

"Is that Catherine Vance?" 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

"Sure is. Lucky girl. Had Rhys Granger wrapped around her finger back in the day, dumped him, disappeared overseas for years, and still crawled back into his bed like nothing happened."

"Deadass. Word is, he’s paying her to be his secretary now. Like, girl didn’t even study anything close to that."

"Please, I heard she majored in interior design or something, nothing to do with admin."

"Nepotism much?"

"Bet they do role-play in the office. ’Mr. Granger, I need a raise...’ Bitch, please, we know how you’re earning that bonus."

They didn’t even bother whispering.

If anything, they leaned in louder, like they were auditioning for Mean Girls: The Grown-Up Edition.

Rhys and Catherine were maybe two feet away, and their faces said everything.

Pale, angry, cornered.

Catherine blinked quickly, like she was fighting back tears. "That’s not true," she mumbled, her voice trembling. "Rhys and I aren’t like that. We’re just colleagues. We only came in together because we bumped into each other at the door."

Cute excuse.

Ten out of ten for effort, but no one was buying it.

Especially not with Rhys standing there like a mute statue.

They hadn’t gone public with their relationship, obviously, though I no longer cared to analyze why.

Maybe sneaking around was part of the fun for them.

Yvaine drifted past with a wine glass and an Oscar-worthy smirk, then oops—red wine all over Catherine’s dress.

Hand slipped. Whoopsie.

"Oh dear, my bad. Didn’t see you there," she said, not even pretending to sound sorry. "But since you egged Serenna into throwing wine on me at the Laurents’ party, I guess we’re even now."

Catherine clenched her jaw and hissed, "Fine. We’re even."

She tried to move away, but Yvaine wouldn’t let her. "I’ll pay you for the dress. How much is it?"

Catherine tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Five grand."

Yvaine nodded. "Okay, five grand. Then you owe me fifteen grand."

Catherine stared. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"The dress I wore to the Laurent party. It was tailored—twenty thousand dollars. Yours is off-the-rack, right? Anyway, wanna do card or cash?"

Catherine’s eyes almost popped out of her head. "Twenty grand? Are you freaking kidding me?"

Yvaine scoffed. "Didn’t your mommy and daddy raise you like a spoiled little princess? What, they never bought you a twenty-thousand-dollar dress? Pathetic. Fine, I’ll cut you a discount. Just give me ten. It’ll be my good deed for the day."

Catherine’s face went from cherry red to sheet white.

Her fists clenched so tightly I half-expected to see blood. "This is extortion."

"I’ve got receipts," Yvaine said. "Want screenshots or printed copies?"

Catherine whipped her head to Rhys. "Say something, Rhys!"

He frowned.

Yvaine raised a hand, not even looking at him. "This is between the girls, Rhys. Sit down and shut up."

He did.

Catherine’s lips started to tremble.

She scanned the room like she was hunting for backup.

Found me instead.

Her eyes narrowed. "You put her up to this, didn’t you?"

I shrugged.

Yvaine snapped her fingers in Catherine’s face. "Uh-uh. Eyes over here. We’re not done. Fork it over."

Catherine looked around again, desperate now.

But tonight’s crowd was mostly women, not the type to fall for her good looks and damsel energy.

The few guys around had the good sense to keep their mouths shut.

Nobody wanted trouble with Yvaine Carlisle, not when she had a revenge streak a mile long.

Catherine turned back to Rhys—her last hope.

Still useless.

Rhys had that glazed, stunned look on his face, like it had just hit him that he wasn’t the star of the party anymore.

Catherine bit her lip. "This is just revenge! You poured wine on me on purpose! You’re only doing this because of Mirabelle, because she’s too much of a coward to stand up for herself. Well, guess what? That’s why Rhys dumped her. No spine!"

Crack.

The slap echoed like a gunshot.

A perfect, open-palmed serve right across her face.

Yvaine flicked her wrist like she’d just scored match point.

"Everyone knows who the cheater is here. Say one more word about Mirabelle and I’ll knock your teeth out for free."

Rhys shot to his feet, pulling Catherine to his side.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he snarled at Yvaine.

She turned to the crowd and raised her voice like we were in court. "Oh, now he’s protecting her? Says they’re just colleagues, but look, he’s fixing her soggy dress, escorting her to parties like they’re an old married couple. Anyone here do that with your ’colleagues’?"

Everyone behind her chimed in like a choir: "Absolutely not!"

"We’re leaving," Rhys growled, grabbing Catherine’s wrist.

Yvaine blocked their way before they could even turn.

"Going somewhere? On my birthday? After showing up with one gift between the two of you and turning my party into a Jerry Springer episode?"

Rhys looked ready to explode. "Move!"

Yvaine stood her ground.

He shoved her.

Her heels were skyscraper-tall, and she wobbled like a baby giraffe.

I caught her before she faceplanted, then stepped right up to Rhys.

And slapped him.

Twice.

It felt fantastic, not going to lie.

My hand stung like hell, but watching his smug face whip sideways was worth every nerve ending.

I thought about the trash he’d posted in that group chat this week. The dirty jokes, the smug texts, the smugger selfies.

So I slapped him again.

Twice more.

Four clean hits before anyone even realized what was happening.

His face was already puffy from what Ashton did to him, and now it looked like he’d lost a fight with a frying pan.

If he’d had any jawline left, it was gone now.

And, weirdly, I kind of understood it.

That sharp, visceral satisfaction in being able to physically overwhelm someone who deserved it—it made a sort of primitive sense.

Not that I was endorsing violence or anything, but sometimes, words just didn’t cut it.

Sometimes fists spoke louder.

I shook out my hand and snapped, "Apologize to Yvaine."