The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 608

Could this woman be the one who had dared break Weston's heart?

If so, she had offended a man who never forgot a slight. A proud soul like Weston would sooner freeze over than forgive the person who left him.

"Since you don't know her," Zachary said, bending almost double in obsequious delight, "allow me to teach you a proper lesson. Consider it settling a score on his behalf."

Weston remained silent, expression unreadable, neither granting permission nor calling the thug off.

"Did you hear that? A man like Mr. Windore wouldn't claim trash from who-knows-where." Zachary sneered at Laura, who was struggling to lift Harvey. "Time you learned some people are far beyond your reach."

Laura glared back. "Can you afford the consequences of laying a hand on me? My friend is Mrs. Julius Whitethorn. If anything happens to me, she will make you pay in full."

"What now—couldn't worm your way into Mr. Windore's good graces, so you're clawing for Master Whitethorn's instead?" He slashed a hand through the smoky air at the circle of drunken cronies. "All of you, make her regret walking in here. The worse she looks, the better."

In Zachary's hazy, self-satisfied mind, the plan felt flawless. Hurting Laura would surely please Weston. After all, he reasoned, he was doing the man a favor—punishing the woman who had dared dump him and spit on his pride.

Laura watched the pack tighten around her, eyes gleaming with the thrill of sanctioned violence. She could fend off one or two, but not this many. Her phone—her single lifeline—lay a distance away on the carpet like a fallen flare, hopelessly out of reach. Even if she dove for it, Zachary's thugs would never give her the seconds needed to call Quinnie.

Laura knew she lacked the muscle, the money, and the connections to chase these men off. Her phone lay facedown on the floor far away, its screen still lit like a mocking lighthouse she could never reach. Besides, Zachary and his pack would never grant her the luxury of a calm phone call.

Weston is the only person I can turn to.

Yet his cold indifference seconds earlier still rang in her ears. If he's already decided to stand aside, will begging even matter? Will he really let Harvey and me be beaten until we can't stand? There has to be another way—anything.

Weston's voice sliced through the tension, low and lazy, as though he were commenting on the weather. "So you've decided not to ask me for help again, is that it?"

Laura blinked, startled, and met his unreadable gaze. "What?"

Weston took an unhurried step forward. "Would you rather be injured yourself—watch your benefactor beaten half to death—than admit any connection to me? Is remaining strangers really worth that much to you?"

First, he told me not to beg, and now, he questions why I'm silent. Does he hear himself?

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