THE DIVORCE GAMBIT From Dumped Wife to CEO's Forever novel Chapter 132

Even his voice carried an air of intimidation.

"Don't you ever knock before coming in?"

Skyler grinned, unbothered. "Uncle, come on, when have I ever knocked before barging into your room?"

As he spoke, Skyler noticed something odd in Gordon's expression. He glanced around the room. "Uncle, you look flustered, half-dressed, all anxious—tsk, tsk, tsk… Don't tell me you're hiding some secret girlfriend in here?"

"Nonsense."

As if he was the type to keep a mistress tucked away somewhere. The only thing he ever hid away was… books.

With that thought, Skyler immediately dashed toward the bathroom.

He was determined to find this so-called "mistress."

He flung open the bathroom door—no one inside.

He yanked open the wardrobe—still empty.

He bent down to peer beneath the desk—nothing.

No one under the bed, either.

Skyler rubbed his chin. Wait, could Uncle have hidden someone under the covers?

With that idea, he seized the chance while Gordon was distracted, and whipped the blanket off the bed.

For a split second, Gordon's heart stopped.

But relief came quickly.

The bed was empty.

Thank goodness he'd stashed his book under the mattress, not just under the blanket.

Skyler looked even more puzzled. "There's nothing here! Uncle, what are you even feeling guilty about?"

Now, Gordon was completely composed. He settled onto the sofa, lips curling in mild amusement. "People with a guilty conscience see guilt everywhere."

Skyler scratched his head. Maybe he really was overthinking it.

"Uncle, go get dressed. Everyone's waiting for you at dinner."

"I know. Out you go," Gordon replied coolly.

Skyler slipped out, closing the door behind him.

Only then did Gordon let out a long sigh of relief.

Hannah cherished her granddaughter so much that she wanted nothing more than to give her the world.

Her eight uncles were even more extravagant, doting on their one and only niece as if she were made of porcelain—afraid to let her fall, afraid to let her fade away.

Because the Richards estate was hundreds of miles from the city where Freya lived, the uncles went all out to make travel easier for her. They gifted her a private jet worth four and a half billion dollars.

To put that in perspective: even if an ordinary person won five million in the lottery every single day, nonstop for three straight years, they still wouldn't have four and a half billion.

To this day, that private jet sits unused at the city's airport.

All these years, the Richards family had never stopped searching for Carey and Freya. Even the slightest rumor would have them crossing countries, climbing mountains, whatever it took to follow a lead.

Just half a month ago, Hannah heard about a young woman in Montclair who might be her Freya.

Warren Richards, Willis, Lyle, Theodore, Justin, Zachary, Hugo, and Frederick—her eight sons—dropped everything to investigate. Theodore and Justin even flew in from overseas to look into it personally.

Everyone had hoped for good news.

But…

As soon as Samuel's words fell, Hannah's eyes brimmed with tears. Her hand trembled, and the jewelry box tumbled to the floor. The dam broke.

"Why not? Why isn't it her?" she cried, voice quivering. "Oh God, where is my Freya? Where is my little girl?"