Dear Ex-wife Marry Me novel (Maja) novel Chapter 1512

K tapped his fingers in the air, a subtle gesture aimed at the person beside him.

"Where's Quentin?"

"His stepdad pulled him away. The whole Forbidden Island is in chaos, and that man is furious. Whatever punishment Mr. Gellar has in store for him, it's probably going to be..."

That man was ruthless, and he wouldn't let Quentin off the hook.

Quentin had lent a hand to Ian and Maja, and now the island was in disarray.

K's lips tightened slightly. "Find out what's happening with Quentin."

"Right away."

Quentin needed to be stopped from causing further chaos. Otherwise, Ian and Maja might actually make a break for it.

K was no longer sure of their exact whereabouts. He had people searching for Patric's location, but Patric wasn't with Maja.

He had promised to bring Maja to Patric.

But with Quentin meddling, and the influence of others creeping in, K was feeling the strain.

Unless that man got in touch with him.

As if on cue, his phone rang.

A deep voice came through from the other end.

"Quentin told Ian about the tunnel's location. The exit is about fifty meters above sea level; it's a spot prone to accidents."

K raised an eyebrow, a crooked smile forming.

The man on the line was Quentin's stepfather, and it seemed he had caught on to Quentin's antics.

Now that the lifesaving tunnel's secret was out, what other secrets did Forbidden Island hold?

"How's Quentin?"

"Paying the price."

As for what that punishment was, no one really knew.

The man, in his fifties, hung up after listening to a servant's report.

"Mr. Gellar has passed out. Do we continue?"

If they went through with it all, Quentin could die.

"Continue."

The man's voice was devoid of mercy, his eyes cold.

"He chose this path."

The woman, who showed no reaction to Ian and Maja's presence, now looked up, her head turning in all directions.

Knowing better than to respond, she lay back down, her expression inscrutable.

"Cynthia, time for dinner."

She didn't respond, just leaned against the wall.

Soon, someone came to deliver her meal.

Cynthia had resisted at first, had begged, but after all these years, she was still in this hopeless place.

It was futile. This was her life now.

She would never see, never see her daughter again.

After so much time in isolation, without conversation, she had nearly forgotten how to form complex sentences.

Now she could only utter the simplest phrases, as if her language skills had regressed.

She was aware of recent visitors to the basement, but after countless attempts, countless hopes of escape met with despair, she had learned her lesson.

After each failed attempt, the man would remind her of how many times she had tried to run.

To date, it was exactly ten thousand.