Boss, Your Ex-Wife is Unreachable Now! novel Chapter 80

"Call Beasley!" The old lady's voice was as frosty as ever as she issued the order.

Nell obeyed without hesitation.

This time, the phone barely rang before someone picked up.

Nell finally let out a breath of relief and said respectfully, "Mr. Beasley, the madam would like to speak with you."

She handed over the phone.

The old lady took the receiver, and the very first thing out of her mouth was a reproach: "Beasley, your wife doesn't even respect me anymore. She won't even answer my calls!"

Beasley replied, utterly unfazed, "Grandmother, she won't answer mine either."

The old lady was momentarily thrown off by his reasonable-sounding reply. It took her a moment to gather herself and get back on track. When she did, her temper flared. "That's not the point! The point is that she doesn't care about this family at all!"

"I don't care what her excuse is. I'll say it plain, right now—your twenty-eighth birthday is in two months. If Willow's still not pregnant by then, you're getting a divorce. That's final!"

She laid down her ultimatum without the slightest hesitation.

Beasley was the Windsor family's only male heir—his uncle had only ever had a daughter—so the entire Windsor bloodline rested on Beasley's shoulders. No wonder the old lady was so anxious for a grandchild, desperate for Beasley to produce an heir.

Beasley thought it over. Two months—if York still couldn't make up her mind to pursue her own happiness by then, there'd be nothing he could do to help her.

So he agreed. "Alright."

His grandmother was so surprised at his easy acceptance, she almost didn't believe it.

She hadn't asked for these out of idle curiosity or for a creative project; her real aim was to find the place where she'd been held captive in her previous life.

From the moment she'd fled to the balcony to the instant she fell, only a handful of seconds had passed. Fear had blurred the details, but she could roughly recall that it had been an island, the house perched close to the shore and surrounded by dense greenery. As far as she could tell, hers was the only building nearby. The house itself was seven or eight stories tall; perhaps her captors had chosen such a high floor to keep her from escaping.

Willow pored over the photos and documents, searching for any clue, but no matter how many times she looked, nothing matched her memories.

Could it have been one of the islands farther out to sea?

She quickly dismissed the thought—she remembered that the foreign men guarding her had eaten only local food and even smoked domestic cigarettes. Nothing imported.

So was it one of Beasley's private islands?

She had no leads. For now, all she could do was set it aside; vengeance could wait. One day, she would see this through—no matter what it took.