The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 558

Chapter 558: Weston to the Rescue

Laura’s heart pounded fiercely against her chest, each beat reverberating like a drum in the confined underground garage. The figure delivering those relentless, punishing blows—the broad, powerful shoulders, the ruthless accuracy—could only belong to one man: Weston Windore.

The heavy, dull thuds of his fists landing echoed sharply through the dimly lit space, slicing through Laura’s nerves like a jagged blade. She could almost sense the agony those punches inflicted on the man beneath them, as if the pain was being carved into his flesh with each strike.

At first, Sylas had roared in defiance, spitting curses with venom and fury. But now, his defiant roars had dwindled into weak, broken whimpers, rasping out between desperate gasps for breath.

Weston moved with a fierce intensity Laura had never witnessed before—not even during the earlier confrontation at the police station when he had subdued Sylas. Tonight, his fury seemed boundless, as if the very edge of death hovered just inches from his clenched fists. Every punch carried the weight of finality, each blow promising to finish what the last had begun.

As Laura watched death creeping closer with every strike, an overwhelming surge of fear and desperation propelled her forward. She lunged, grabbing Weston’s forearm, her fingers digging into the taut muscle beneath his sleeve. “Please… don’t,” she whispered, her voice trembling like fragile glass on the verge of shattering.

The gleaming face of Weston’s expensive watch was splattered with fresh, vivid red—blood flecked across the pristine cuff of his tailored jacket. A sharp metallic scent flooded Laura’s nostrils, and she suddenly realized her palm felt sticky and warm against his skin. She had pressed her hand directly into the wet blood that should have remained inside Sylas, now smeared across Weston’s wrist.

Weston paused mid-swing, his gaze flickering down to her trembling hand before giving a curt nod. “Alright. I’ll stop.”

Sylas collapsed like a marionette whose strings had been severed, slumping heavily onto the grimy, oil-stained concrete floor. His face was a swollen, bruised mask of deep crimson, and even his groans sounded faint and hollow, barely more than a breath.

The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, breaking the tense silence. Two security guards came rushing in, drawn by the commotion, and skidded to a halt at the sight of the bloodied scene before them.

“What on earth happened here?” one guard demanded, his voice bouncing off the low ceiling of the garage.

“He attacked me on the parking level,” Laura explained quickly, pointing toward Sylas. “This man stepped in and stopped him.”

The guards exchanged uneasy glances, their eyes dropping to the half-conscious figure sprawled on the floor.

“He had a knife,” Laura added, her breath still coming fast. “We had to take him down to stay alive.”

The older guard’s face paled when he spotted the discarded blade lying nearby. Without hesitation, he pulled out his phone and called emergency services, requesting both police and an ambulance.

“Are either of you hurt?” the guard asked after ending the call.

“I’m fine. Weston got here just in time,” Laura said softly, the adrenaline slowly draining from her body.

Weston’s eyes darkened, a sharp sting in his expression that cut deeper than any of Sylas’s blows ever could.

“What about you? Are you injured anywhere?” Laura’s gaze searched him carefully, worry threading through her words.

Only then did Weston notice how intently she was studying him.

“I’m fine,” he replied quietly, voice steady. “That scum never even got close.”

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