The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 564

Military 564

Chapter 564: Morning After Glow

1966

The following morning, Laura leaned casually against the break-room counter, a steaming cup of coffee cradled in her hands. She raised a curious eyebrow at Quinn. “You seem unusually upbeat today,” she observed. “Yesterday, you left the office looking like the weight of the world was crushing you.”

Quinnie’s smile was subtle but bright, lighting up her face. “I’m feeling surprisingly good,” she confessed, her mind drifting back to the previous night. She recalled how Julius’s arms had intertwined with hers, the way their closeness had sparked a fire between them. Only her early-pregnancy caution had prevented them from crossing the final line.

Even without that last step, they had ventured through every other delicate, forbidden moment until they were both breathless and flushed with excitement.

The image of Julius—so charming, so relentless—floated through her thoughts, leaving her mouth dry and her heart racing.

She had never imagined herself so utterly captivated by such devastatingly handsome allure.

The peaceful hum of the office late that morning was abruptly shattered when the double glass doors slammed open. Two figures burst through, their hurried footsteps echoing sharply against the marble floor like gunshots. Loose papers scattered, caught in the sudden gust.

Emily Reed, the young secretary, skidded to a stop behind them, her chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. “Sorry, Ms. Wentworth, Ms. Bridger—I tried to hold them back, but they wouldn’t listen…”

Her apology barely faded when a sharp crack rang out—the unmistakable sound of flesh striking flesh.

The noise hung in the air like a gunshot at dawn. Conversations ceased mid-word, pens paused mid-sentence, and every gaze snapped toward Laura Wentworth.

Standing beside her was a woman in her fifties, cheeks flushed with anger, the red imprint of her palm still visible in the space between them.

Without hesitation, Quinn sprang forward, her heels slipping slightly on the polished floor as she caught the woman’s wrist just before another strike could land. “Who are you?” Quinn demanded, voice firm. “And who gave you the right to hit someone in this office?”

The woman jerked against Quinn’s grip, lifting her chin in defiant challenge. “Why not? I’m her mother. Since when is it a crime for a mother to discipline her own daughter?”

Quinn’s breath caught. Her mind raced, piecing together fragments of information. Laura’s biological mother had passed away years ago. This woman—she had to be the stepmother.

Trailing behind the woman was a man of similar age, his face marked by the same stern lines that defined Laura’s features—surely her father.

The office employees wore expressions of stunned disbelief as the word “mother” hung heavy in the air.

The woman twisted her trapped wrist again, her voice rising to a shrill pitch. “Let me go! You’re all bullies! I don’t care if she owns the place—I’m her mother, and I’ll teach my daughter a lesson. This is none of your business!”

Her free hand lashed out in a fresh arc of anger, nails extended like claws.

Before she could connect, a black-suited bodyguard appeared out of nowhere, grabbing her wrist with swift, precise strength. In the next heartbeat, she was forced face-down onto the carpet, the guard’s knee pressing firmly into her shoulder, silencing her protests against the thick weave.

“Mrs. Whitethorn, are you hurt?” the guard asked calmly, his knee still holding her in place.

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