The Ex-Wife's Triumph novel Chapter 108

The phone on the corner of the table lay vibrating. Kingsley checked the ID and didn't lift a finger, leaving it to ring itself out.

No sooner had it gone quiet than Shane's phone, close by, started up.

Shane saw the name on the screen and quietly stepped out of the booth.

Just before the call went to voicemail, Shane answered, keeping his voice gentle. "Miss Mason."

Joyce's panicked, tearful voice came through the receiver immediately. "Where is Kingsley? Why won't he answer?"

"Mr. Sherwood is in a meeting; he can't come to the phone," Shane replied patiently. "If you have something to say, I can convey the message."

"It's Wyatt!" Joyce's voice couldn't stop trembling. "He chased me to France. He just cornered me at the school gate..."

Shane's expression shifted. He paused before replying, "Alright, I understand. I'll inform Mr. Sherwood immediately."

Hanging up, Shane returned to the booth.

Kingsley was still talking, his tone unhurried. Shane swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue and waited quietly by the side.

About ten minutes later, the conversation finally wrapped up.

Shane lowered his voice. "Mr. Sherwood, Miss Mason just called. She said Young Master Sterling followed her to France and is harassing her."

Kingsley's brow instantly furrowed, the air around him dropping in temperature. "Find out where Wyatt is."

"I already checked," Shane replied quickly. "He booked a flight to Switzerland. He should be leaving soon."

Kingsley didn't speak. He flicked the lighter's wheel. A spark caught and died.

The connection established quickly. He put on his Bluetooth headset. Fluent, standard French flowed into the microphone as the executives on the screen sat up straight, listening intently.

The meeting lasted nearly an hour, but no ideal solution was reached.

Exiting the meeting and removing the headset, Kingsley pressed his fingers to his brow in thought. Then, he messaged Shane: [Book a ticket to France. Earliest flight.]

After sending it, he casually opened Twitter. The first post was a travel photo of Thurston's family of three, radiating warmth.

Kingsley, who rarely liked anything, paused his finger and, in a rare move, liked the post.

Not two minutes later, Thurston's message popped up: [Kingsley, did you get hacked?]

Being a longtime friend, Thurston knew his habits too well—let alone liking posts, Kingsley rarely even scrolled through social media. Him voluntarily liking a photo was rarer than a meteorite strike.