Dear Ex-wife Marry Me novel (Maja) novel Chapter 1442

Dylan had become quite chummy with the North American royalty over the years, especially with a certain prince. Rumor had it their friendship was solid as a rock.

Beck, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

Anyone blindsided by such a colossal secret would be out of their wits.

Maja, however, seemed the picture of calm, nursing a cup of coffee and idly stirring it with a spoon.

“Beck, is Dylan sure of himself?”

Beck halted mid-stride and slowly took a seat, “Dylan might have blundered big time with that Judith mess, but he’s not one to muddle through things like this. Give him two days tops, and he’ll have it sorted.”

His expression darkened, fingers raking through his hair in frustration, "I just can’t wrap my head around it. It's too far-fetched."

If Tomas and Juliet were phonies, then who was pulling the strings, and who had the clout to pull off such a stunt?

Ian, nestled beside Maja, rested his head on her shoulder, “If it’s the research facility's doing, then it’s not so far-fetched. They’re ambitious, perhaps looking to puppeteer every top-tier family. And families like the Sanders, with their strict codes, are ripe for the picking, just masquerade as the two figureheads.”

Beck stiffened, his eyes bulging in disbelief.

“Are you suggesting that this research facility could be targeting not just the Sanders family, but all the elite families?”

“It’s just a theory,” Ian continued, “They operate in the shadows, wielding power like puppet masters. And with their cutting-edge medical tech, impersonating someone would be child's play. If only Dylan could recall more details about those human experiments, we’d be less in the dark.”

For now, all they could do was wait for Dylan’s move with the royalty.

Ian, the hand on Maja’s belly, sighed softly, “Once Dylan sends word, we’ll have to make a beeline for that facility.”

Maja shared the sentiment.

With time to kill, Beck grabbed a laptop and started digging up intel.

“Here are some of North America’s notable families. Aside from the Sanders family, there’s one linked to Windhelm, the Moores. Their patriarch, Walter Moore, is a smiling tiger with a decent rapport with Dylan. If the Moores family is also compromised, Dylan would likely join forces with Walter, who’s known to play hardball.”

No picture of Walter surfaced in the search, but Beck produced a snapshot he’d taken on the sly. It showed Walter alongside Abner.

They made the several-hour drive, arriving to find the Sanders’ security tighter than ever.

None of the other Sanders were clued in, and Dylan had simply told them the elders had retreated to their island retreat, a habit no one questioned.

Maja and Ian were ushered into a spacious room, a stark contrast to the dismal basements, but the sunlight did little to lift the gloom.

Two men sat on the central sofa. One was Dylan, and the other was a beaming Walter.

The two impersonators were bound and gagged, their hands indeed that of someone in their fifties.

Walter, pinching a cigarette, turned and raised an eyebrow upon seeing Maja.

“Dylan, this the little sister you’ve talked up?”

Dylan tensed, not daring to reply, instead quickly casting his gaze downward.