The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 386

Chapter 386 The Long Wait

“I’ll wait,” Quinn blurted before he could say more.

“Very well. When the meetings wrap, I’ll mention your request again.”

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Quinn slipped her phone away and sank onto a chair in the lobby, the building’s vast glass ceiling pouring daylight over her folded hands.

She waited, uncertain how many hours–or how much resolve–would be required before Julius agreed to meet her.

Perhaps she admitted with a grim twist of humor–this wait would end in nothing at all. Yet quitting was unthinkable. She had to keep waiting.

Minute after minute bled from the lobby clock until the morning lay in tatters. Quinn sat in the chair until Fabian finally appeared, smoothing his tie as though that small orderliness could soften bad news. “I’m sorry, Ms. Bridger,” he said, the apology hushed. “I spoke with Mr. Whitethorn, but he…”

“I understand. Thank you,” Quinn replied, bowing her head just enough to signal the conversation was over.

Fabian ventured a suggestion, “Perhaps you should head home for today and return when Mr. Whitethorn is in a better mood.”

“I’ll wait a while longer,” Quinn answered, stubborn hope flickering across her face. “His mood may improve before the day is out.”

Out of options, Fabian retreated to the office. Inside the vast office, he reported, “Ms. Bridger is still downstairs. She refuses to leave.”

“Is that so?” Julius murmured, lids half–lowered like steel shutters. “If she wishes to wait, let her wait.”

Fabian cleared his throat. “It is nearly lunchtime. Ms. Bridger hasn’t eaten, and her shoulder wound is not fully healed. If she keeps sitting there…”

While he spoke, Fabian watched Julius‘ expression the way sailors watch a storm cloud.

A crease formed between Julius‘ brows; a flicker of conflict edged his eyes.

Only Quinn, Fabian realized, could move that iron heart.

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Chapter 386 The Long Wait

“Bring her up,” Julius ordered coldly.

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Fabian almost ran back to the lobby. “Ms. Bridger, Mr. Whitethorn will see you now.”

Quinn leapt to her feet and shadowed him toward the private elevator, each step strung tight between relief and dread.

At the office door, Fabian rapped twice, then breathed, “Mr. Whitethorn is inside. Please, go in.”

Quinn drew a steadying breath, pushed the door open, and crossed the threshold.

His silhouette struck her first–tall, spare, uncompromising–etched against the floor–to- ceiling windows.

A white dress shirt and black trousers framed a physique tempered by ruthless discipline. Noon sunlight poured around him so fiercely that warmth and chill seemed to duel in the same beam.

Hearing her footfall, he pivoted from the glass and fixed her with an unreadable gaze.

“What matter is so urgent that you insist on seeing me?” Julius asked, every syllable carved from ice.

“I hope you will rescind the order instructing the Fane family to cast out Serena Fane, Mr. Whitethorn,” Quinn said, voice steady but soft.

“Mr. Whitethorn?” Julius let out a short, humorless laugh. “If you call me Mr. Whitethorn, you must realize we share nothing now. Why would I grant your request?”

The rebuff stung, though Quinn had braced for it.

From their first encounter, Julius had moved through life with glacial detachment, as if the world were a painting he could admire yet never touch.

She had come prepared for ice. It’s all right, she reminded herself. You’ve survived worse.

“I know I have no right to ask,” she began, “but when my brother Rowan was stranded in Doria, a woman named Lena Durand saved his life. Lena is now in Celosia battling leukemia. Serena Fane’s stem cells match hers and could keep her alive, but Serena will only donate if she remains within the Fane family. Since your public statement, Everett Fane has scheduled a press conference in Celosia to disown her. I beg you–withdraw your words and give Lena a chance to live.”

He leaned back, shoulders relaxed as though the matter were a weather report, not a life. “Tell

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me, what does any of this have to do with me? Whether Lena Durand lives or dies is hardly my burden to shoulder, is it?”

Quinn lurched forward before the words had finished echoing, desperation cracking through her composure. “I’m not asking you to carry the blame. I only need you to help my brother. I was grateful when you stood up for my parents, but now my brother’s rescuer’s life is at stake. Please, let bygones stay buried. At least withdraw what you said and make sure Serena donates her stem cells.”

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Julius pursed his lips, a razor line cutting across his face as he considered her. “And if I choose

not to?”

Quinn straightened. “You didn’t agree to meet me just to twist the knife, Julius. Tell me what you want. Name your price, your condition–whatever it is, I’ll do it.”

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