The Ex-Wife's Burning Elegance novel Chapter 948

As that thought crossed Neville’s mind, a hard, dangerous glint flickered in his eyes.

He pressed on. “Then tell me, why was your phone found there?”

Sellers replied evenly, “I lost my phone not long ago. I have no idea how it ended up there.”

Sellers hadn’t become the head of his family by being naïve. He was slick—no police interrogation or cross-examination could trip him up.

Neville’s lips curled into a cold smile. “That’s odd, because Joshua told me you’ve been with Leonard the whole time.”

Without missing a beat, Sellers replied, “Before I lost my phone, yes, I did see Leonard. I even got a call from Joshua. But what does any of that have to do with you?”

Neville’s tone turned icy. “Stella’s missing. We believe Leonard kidnapped her. And you—being with Leonard—are likely involved.”

Sellers arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You ‘believe’? So you don’t actually have any real proof Stella was kidnapped by Leonard. You don’t even know for sure who took her, yet here you are, barging in and throwing around accusations?”

He let out a short, cold laugh. “Neville, I’m not one of your subordinates to be ordered around. Out of respect for Stella and my father, I let you search this place. That’s already more than generous.”

Sellers glanced at the men blocking his path, making it clear he wouldn’t back down.

“Step aside. If you keep trying to stop me, don’t blame me for what happens next.”

Neville knew Sellers wasn’t the type to break under pressure. If he wanted answers, he’d have to push harder.

Neville’s voice turned lighter, almost mocking. “Tough talk, Mr. Burton. Have you forgotten whose turf you’re standing on?”

He fixed Sellers with a cold stare. “So, how about it, Mr. Burton? Will you leave on your own, or do I have to show you out?”

Sellers’ face darkened, the anger clear. Wherever he went, he was used to being in control. Now, he was the one being detained—caught up in a mess he hadn’t even caused. If only he’d ignored Leonard’s call to come here.

Sellers showed no sign of fear, barely even looked at Foreman. “I don’t know.”

A split second later, Foreman’s fist crashed into Sellers’ face.

The room froze. Even Sellers was stunned—Foreman, the cool-headed, polite one, had just thrown a punch.

Foreman’s eyes were bloodshot. “I’ll ask you again. Where is she?!”

Sellers sprawled on the floor, scrambled up, and wiped blood from his mouth. His stare was razor-sharp, voice glacial.

“If you want to find her, go look yourself. Beating a confession out of me? That’s your big plan?”

He locked eyes with Foreman. “You can beat me to death if you want, but my answer’s still the same: I. Don’t. Know.”