The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 332

Chapter 332 Sibling Confrontation

Chapter 332 Sibling Confrontation

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Serena leaned in, her perfume curling through the dim light as her lips drifted toward his. Leander turned his face at the last possible heartbeat. “Serena, I only ever regarded you as a sister.”

Her smile fractured. A hard glint flashed across her eyes. “A sister?” She scoffed, the sound sharp as breaking glass. “Do you truly imagine you belong in the Fane family?”

With a sudden shove, she forced him back against the velvet couch. “Years ago, you were half–dead, skin scorched by that fire, penniless on a hospital bed. Lady Margaret mistook you for someone else, and Uncle Everett–fearing for her health–claimed you as an illegitimate son. Without that mercy, infection would have finished you long before now.”

Leander straightened, steadying his breath. “I have never once believed I was truly one of you.”

Serena’s laugh was cold and brittle. “Good. Remember this–that woman still survives only because the Fane family pays her bills. You’re nothing but a dog kept to amuse Lady Margaret.” High heels clicked like gunshots as she swept out of the VIP lounge, chin lifted in haughty triumph.

One day, she vowed, that man would crawl to her on his knees.

Silence settled in the lounge. Leander remained alone, the echo of her steps fading like a receding storm.

He unlocked his phone and opened a remote–monitoring app.

A–hospital room flickered onto the screen: sterile walls, muted lights, the soft hiss of an oxygen line.

On the bed lay a young woman, her features pale beneath the respirator, an IV drip feeding time back into her veins.

Leander brushed two fingers over the glass. “I will cure you, I swear. Hold on a little longer.”

As long as he stayed inside the Fane estate, money and medical access were his to command. Who he had been–whatever memories the flames had stolen–no longer mattered beside her fragile pulse.

Though Julius and Harlan could hardly stand each other, they found common ground in plotting the theft of Leander’s DNA.

Julius traced Leander’s upcoming schedule. Harlan greased palms until a bartender agreed to slip a potent sedative into the liquor. The drug merely induced deep drowsiness–easy to mistake for the after–burn of strong drink.

When Leander retreated to the dressing suite for a brief rest, Quinn slipped inside with Julius and Harlan

close behind.

Outside, Julius men cordoned the corridor. Every staff member had already been bought.

Seeing the unconscious figure–very possibly her long–lost brother–Quinn’s heartbeat skipped.

An open assault is simple to guard against. A hidden blade is another story.

The bribed bartender was reputedly an expert, even outfitting the boule with a tiny mechanism to deliver

the dose.

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Chapter 332 Sibling Confrontation

Harlan whispered, “Blood sample or hair?”

He patted the small toolkit slung at his hip–the choice did not matter to him.

“Hair,” Quinn decided. “Needles leave questions.”

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Tweezers in hand, she plucked several strands from Leander’s temple, slipping them into a sterile pouch. For safety, she took a few more.

Then she knelt, studying the tranquil face beneath the soft light, as if trying to trace family likeness in every quiet angle.

Deny it all you want, but my instincts scream–you are Rowan.

“Rowan… Do you have any idea how much I miss you? If I had found you sooner,” she said, sorrow quivering beneath her measured tone, “would you have been spared even a portion of the pain you’ve endured?”

Julius and Harlan stood a short distance away. Harlan’s brows lifted in quiet empathy, while Julius pressed his lips together, the tension carving a hard line across his face.

Harlan stepped closer and laid a light hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “Finding him now is not too late. Let’s pray he truly is Rowan.”

Julius‘ jaw tightened. Quinn had told him Leander Fane bore severe burns–scars from a blaze three years ago, not from the border inferno five years past.

If he had met Rowan back then and pulled him from the flames, those scars might never have existed.

And if Leander proved to be Rowan, each time Quinn glimpsed those burn marks she would recall Julius‘ failure to act. The thought stirred a ripple of dread deep in his chest.

On the couch, Leander’s fingers twitched–small, involuntary movements signaling the drug’s grip was loosening.