Boss, Your Ex-Wife is Unreachable Now! novel Chapter 98

Willow could feel the man's unwavering gaze, and the urge to push him away only grew stronger.

She fought down the impulse to slam the door in his face, forcing herself to sound reasonable instead. "You're not welcome here. Please don't keep ringing the bell and bothering the neighbors—I don't want to be embarrassed because of you."

"Neighbors?" The man raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Are you talking about me?"

Willow stared at him, baffled.

What did he mean, "Are you talking about me?"

He was her neighbor?!

It suddenly hit her—this building only had two apartments per floor.

The shock left her reeling, her mind slow to catch up.

Beasley seized the moment, gently nudging past her frozen form and slipping inside.

His touch snapped Willow back to her senses, but by then it was far too late.

And the spot where he'd brushed against her made her skin crawl.

"Don't stand there in the draft. Your hair's still damp—you'll catch a cold," he said, his tone calm and indifferent.

Willow stood rigid at the door, eyeing him warily.

He'd already wandered into the living room and helped himself to the sofa.

It wasn't even the first time they'd been alone together. So what was she getting so worked up about?

Just over a month ago, she'd practically thrown herself at him, desperate for his attention.

That nightgown she'd worn—thin, silky, hugging every curve…

His gaze darkened at the memory.

He wasn't the type to chase after women, but that didn't mean he was immune to temptation.

Which was why, that night, he'd left Baycrest Villas in the middle of the night—out of sight, out of mind.

Willow had no idea what was going through his head right now. All she knew was that she needed to make him leave—fast.

She finally moved, but didn't close the door. Instead, she stopped a few feet away from him, keeping her distance.

"What's that?" she asked, frowning at the box he'd set on the coffee table.

"Supplements," he replied curtly.

Willow rolled her eyes. "And why are you giving me these?"

She remembered what her therapist had said: exposure therapy. Was this what it felt like? Because it was pure hell.

Beasley finally noticed that something was wrong. He watched as her face went from pale to red, then back again, her lips trembling, her whole body shaking.

"Are you having cramps?" He sprang up, hurrying toward her.

"Stay away from me!" Willow cried, panic spiking as he came closer.

"You're turning blue. Stop it—I'm taking you to the hospital." He ignored her protest, his long strides closing the gap between them.

Willow instinctively backed away, but the more she retreated, the more determined he became to follow.

The scene sent her mind reeling back to that night—the terror, the chase, the way those men had hunted her down. Her heart pounded wildly, her breathing grew ragged, and she felt like she was suffocating.

The room spun. Her knees buckled.

Beasley lunged forward and caught her just as she collapsed.

The moment his arms wrapped around her, the world tilted. Darkness closed in, the nausea surged, and she couldn't hold it back—she threw up all over him.

Beasley froze, struck dumb, his usual icy demeanor turning to stone.

And then, to top it all off, Willow passed out cold in his arms.