The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 609

"Weston, please, help me. I have to get Harvey out of here and to a hospital right away!" Laura's voice broke on every syllable. Determination shone in her eyes, brittle but blazing, as though she had finally chosen which bridge to burn.

The fiercer her resolve, the higher the tide of jealousy rose inside Weston, churning until it threatened to drown reason.

"For that man, is there nothing you won't sacrifice?" Weston asked, his voice scraped clean of warmth.

Please deny. If she denies, I'll still get them to the hospital, pay for the best doctors. All she has to do is say no.

"Yes," she said, steady as a blade. "I'm willing." The two small words landed like ice water in Weston's chest, extinguishing what little hope he had guarded.

"You—" Weston's glare cut into her, anger etched across his face like fresh scars.

Off to the side, Zachary misread everything, convinced Laura had dumped Weston for that fragile, pretty boy on her lap.

"Woman, you really believe Mr. Windore still gives a d*mn about you? And you plan to haul that kept boy to a hospital? Keep dreaming!" Zachary lunged, fingers curled to strike.

His hand never made contact. Weston's bodyguards pinned him down again with effortless precision.

"M-Mr. Windore? I was... I was just helping you vent your anger!" Zachary protested, humiliation staining his voice.

"My anger isn't yours to manage." Weston spared him a frosty glance, then tilted his chin toward a nearby guard.

On cue, the guard stepped in, lifted Harvey gently from Laura's trembling arms, slung him over his shoulder, and vanished down the corridor.

"He'll get Harvey to the hospital," Weston said, each word clipped but certain.

Only then did Laura let out the breath she'd been holding, shoulders sagging with fragile relief.

"I'll do you this favor, Laura, but you'd better be ready to pay the price." His gaze drilled into her as though already naming the cost.

She bit her lip. "What price?"

Weston gave no answer. He strode forward, scooped her into his arms, and lifted her as if claiming disputed territory.

"Ah!" The sudden elevation pressed against the bruises on her waist and abdomen. Color drained from her face, and a film of cold sweat beaded across her forehead.

Weston felt her flinch. "It hurts?"

"Yeah."

"Where?" He frowned, concern bleeding through the anger.

"My waist, my stomach, and my arm— also my leg," she answered plainly.

Impossible. She's really friends with Mrs. Whitethorn?

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