My Coldhearted Ex demands a Remarriage

Silver Elephant Media.

Inside Asher’s lounge, the atmosphere was tense.

Most of the crew had stayed back, crowding the once-spacious room, anxiously waiting for updates on Elizabeth’s situation.

Soren was unavailable, attending a luxury show in Izrosa, leaving the group feeling rudderless.

Asher ended his call with Ruby, his face grave.

“Ruby says Elizabeth hasn’t returned home.

She’s going to check the surveillance footage now.

What should we do? Should we call the police?”

He grabbed his coat, ready to leave, when Godwin blocked his way.

“Elizabeth’s an adult, and it’s been less than an hour since she went missing.

Do you think the police station is your personal hotline? If you go there and the paparazzi spot you, imagine the rumors they’ll spin.”

Godwin’s practical tone silenced the room.

Beverly nodded in agreement.

“If Elizabeth’s been kidnapped, reporting it too soon might alert the kidnappers and put her in greater danger.”

Godwin reinforced the point.

“You’ve got to tread carefully, Asher.

You’re a top celebrity.

Every move you make is magnified.

Think this through before acting rashly.”

Asher slumped onto the sofa, his frustration palpable.

“What’s the point of all this fame? I can’t even protect the people I care about?”

“This isn’t the time for regrets,” Beverly said softly.

“If only we knew someone influential in both legal and underground circles in Orkset, it would make this so much easier.”

Godwin stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“If Mr.

Rodgers were here, the Rodgers family’s influence in Orkset could have solved this quickly.”

Someone added, “Ruby’s family is wealthy.

Maybe she can handle it.”

But Godwin shook his head.

“Ruby’s family is new money, and their strength lies in financial resources, not deep connections.

If Elizabeth’s really been kidnapped, throwing money at the problem won’t be enough.”

Asher clenched his fists, punching the sofa in frustration.

For the first time, he regretted not building stronger ties with the powerful elite.

He’d always prided himself on relying solely on his own merit, refusing to bow to wealth or influence.

Seeing his anguish, Beverly’s mind raced.

Suddenly, an idea struck her—a name, a person who could help.

Someone with unparalleled power, influence, and connections.

“I just thought of someone!” Beverly exclaimed.

“Who?” Godwin asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked at Beverly skeptically, recalling her humble background.

How could someone like her know anyone influential?

Beverly bit her lip.

“I can’t say.

It’s one of Elizabeth’s friends.”

Asher’s face lit up with recognition.

“Her best friend? I’ve seen her twice.

She’s the little princess of the Nixon family, isn’t she?”

“The Nixon family?” Godwin’s skepticism wavered.

“You mean the same Nixon family you once endorsed?”

Asher nodded.

“Yes.

I think so.

I saw her photo on Mr.

Nixon’s phone once—his wallpaper.

She’s been studying abroad.”

“If it’s the Nixon family, this could work,” Godwin said with relief.

“You should go quickly, Beverly.”

Beverly hesitated for a moment, then nodded and rushed out.

Norris Group:

Beverly stepped out of the taxi and stood at the entrance of the towering Norris Group building.

The sleek facade loomed over her, exuding power and wealth.

Her confidence wavered.

She thought to herself, “What if Oliver doesn’t help? What if he doesn’t believe me or thinks I’m lying?”

She had never interacted with someone of his stature.

Now, she was about to barge into his world, begging for assistance.

Her mind felt like a tug-of-war, filled with uncertainty.

But the memory of Elizabeth’s kindness and Asher’s defeated expression flashed through her mind, strengthening her resolve.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed open the glass doors and stepped inside.

She approached the reception desk, her voice steady despite her nerves.

“Hello, I’m here to see Mr.

Oliver Norris.”

The receptionist, a well-dressed woman, looked up, her gaze assessing Beverly’s casual outfit—a cheap, cartoon-printed T-shirt and faded jeans.

Women often came to see Oliver, but Beverly’s appearance was far from what she expected.

“Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked politely, though her tone carried a hint of skepticism.

“Appointment?” Beverly faltered.

“No, but Mr.

Norris’s friend is in danger.

I need his help.”

The receptionist’s smile was polite but dismissive.

“Miss, if your friend is in danger, I recommend calling the police.

Or, if your friend knows Mr.

Norris, perhaps their family or friends can give you his contact information.”

“Friend? Family?” Beverly muttered, her mind racing.

She didn’t know anyone in Elizabeth’s family who could connect her to Oliver.

“Miss, who are you? What do you need from Mr.

Norris?” A gentle voice interrupted from behind Beverly.