The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 559

Chapter 559: Bloodied Knuckles

“Good evening, Mr. Farrow,” Laura greeted the lawyer with a nod, recognizing him immediately. She recalled seeing him during their previous late-night trip to the station, a memory that still lingered faintly in her mind.

Patrick Farrow returned a sheepish smile, a stark contrast to the usual stern demeanor associated with the Weston family. It was surprising to many that the notoriously strict Weston had required bail not once, but twice within a span of two weeks. Patrick couldn’t help but notice the odd coincidence that both arrests had involved the very same woman.

“Mr. Windore, would you like me to accompany you to the hospital? A doctor should take a look at your hand,” Patrick offered, his eyes briefly flicking to Weston’s bruised knuckles.

“No need,” Weston replied dismissively. “It’s nothing serious. Thanks for tonight. You should head home.” His tone was firm, leaving little room for argument.

Patrick nodded, accepting the dismissal without protest, and quietly slipped away down the corridor.

Laura’s gaze lingered on Weston’s hand. The skin stretched tight over his knuckles, darkened with deep purple bruises—a vivid testament to how fiercely he must have swung the heavy watch. The sight tugged at her concern.

“Does it hurt?” she asked softly.

Weston sidestepped the question with a hint of teasing in his voice. “Concerned about me now, are you?”

“You helped me tonight. Of course I’m worried about your injury,” she replied earnestly.

He lowered his lashes, a faint, rueful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “If I told you it actually hurts quite a bit, what would you do?”

Laura froze. The harsh glow of the fluorescent strip lights overhead flickered against her wide eyes, as if even the sterile station lighting was taken aback by his sudden admission.

But Weston wasn’t waiting for an answer. “Come on. I’m driving you home.”

“No, really—I can just flag down a cab,” she blurted out quickly, the words tumbling out in a rush as she tried to keep some distance between them.

“I’m taking you,” he insisted, his voice low but unwavering. “I pulled you out from under Sylas Seymour’s knife tonight. I’m not about to let anything else happen before the sun rises.”

Laura bit her lower lip, the soft skin catching between her teeth, but despite her hesitation, she found herself nodding in reluctant agreement, surrendering the last of her protest.

They stepped out into the damp night air, the chill wrapping around them as Weston raised a hand. Almost instantly, the first available taxi screeched to a stop, tires hissing on the wet pavement.

Inside the cab, the city lights blurred past the windows as Weston broke the silence. “You packed that stun device because you thought Sylas would come straight for you after getting out of prison, didn’t you?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I just never imagined I’d need it so quickly.”

“But did it occur to you,” Weston continued, “that if he’d attacked with a knife to your ribs right away, no gadget in your purse would have stopped the first strike?”

Laura’s mind flashed back to the station, where she had recounted every detail to the officers. Weston had stood silently against the wall, each word dropping heavily between them like lead.

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