Boss, Your Ex-Wife is Unreachable Now! novel Chapter 86

"Not meeting you. Get out of my way!" Willow's hand gripped the doorknob so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her face was set, voice icy. "Stay away from me!"

She had to fight hard to keep herself from stepping back. If she retreated, she'd lose her edge. But could this man just leave already?

Beasley's cool, deep-set eyes lingered on Willow's face, catching the flush of anger there.

Every time he'd seen her lately, she'd been bristling like this—prickly all over, like a cat with its fur standing on end.

York had joked that maybe this was her new trick to get his attention. Beasley didn't buy it.

She was genuinely angry, and she clearly wanted nothing to do with him. It was obvious in the tension in her shoulders, the wary set of her eyes.

Still, she looked healthy enough—cheeks flushed, skin glowing. If she'd really gone through with the abortion, there was no way she'd have bounced back so quickly. Sanford hadn't found any record of her seeing a doctor, either.

"I'm not your enemy," Beasley said, his gaze dropping from her face to the spot beneath her pale blue coat, where her belly was hidden. "You don't have to be so nervous about your baby."

He'd clearly decided that Willow's defensive posture was because she thought he might harm her unborn child.

Willow blinked, thrown for a moment. "My baby?"

Her eyes widened. "Wait—you didn't really think all those times I was nauseous, it was because I was pregnant, did you?"

Beasley's chiseled brow arched, and though he said nothing, the look in his eyes was answer enough.

Willow's anger vanished, replaced by a sort of exhausted incredulity. She couldn't even be bothered to laugh at him.

"If you don't want me to throw up all over you, I suggest you move. I need to get going."

Her voice was calm, her expression remote.

But he didn't budge. He blocked the door like an immovable glacier, and let out a cool, "No rush."

This new look was... different.

It lasted only a heartbeat. His surprise faded, vanishing beneath his unreadable calm.

He turned away, sidestepping her and strolling straight into the living room.

Sanford had told him the place cost nearly a million pounds, and Willow had bought it outright. The old villa in Baycrest couldn't find a buyer—where had she found the money for this?

The answer was obvious: she'd earned it herself, writing novels.

Beasley had to admit, he'd underestimated her.

Willow stood frozen, fists clenched tight, watching helplessly as he made himself at home. The sense of defeat was suffocating—the same helplessness she'd felt in her past life, watching disaster unfold and being powerless to stop it.