The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 618

Chapter 618 Misplaced Accusations

Chapter 618 Misplaced Accusations

82

+10 Free Coins

The man famed for razor–sharp arguments in court suddenly found himself tongue–tied before her quiet fury.

“You’re right. I spoke out of turn,” he conceded, the admission surprisingly swift.

Laura blinked, caught off guard by how easily he lowered his guard.

“One more thing,” Weston said, turning back to Harvey. “The Kingston family won’t trouble you again. If anyone you offended before comes to find you, come to my firm. I’ll make each problem disappear.”

Harvey’s eyes widened. “Why would you help me? What’s your purpose?”

Laura, too, looked puzzled, unable to fathom the sudden generosity.

After all, Weston had shown nothing but disdain for Harvey up until this moment.

“No purpose,” Weston said, shrugging lightly. “Call it my good deed for the day.”

Laura couldn’t help wondering whether a man like Weston ever did anything without a carefully calculated

reason.

“Are you done? Let me take you home,” Weston said.

Laura’s gaze darted from Harvey to Weston’s tall silhouette. If she stayed any longer, she would disturb Harvey’s rest. So, she gave a reluctant nod.

“Then I’ll head out for now,” she murmured, leaning close enough for him to hear. “Focus on getting better —and, just so you know, Mr. Windore hasn’t been making things hard for me.”

The door closed behind them with a soft click, and the ward sank into a hush broken only by the rhythmic beep of monitors. Is he really willing to help me? Is it charity, or simply because of Laura?

“Why are you helping Harvey?” Laura asked once the elevator doors slid shut, her tone sharp with suspicion. She did not buy his explanation; every instinct in her bristled against such a convenient excuse.”

“Because he once helped you,” Weston answered, voice pitched so low it vibrated against the steel walls.

“What are you talking about? He helped me, so you help him–just like that?” she blurted, eyes wide.

“Yes.” He lifted his hand and, with disarming gentleness, brushed his fingertips along her cheek. “When you were in your darkest hour, he stood up for you, made sure the men who hurt you paid for it. I owe him for

that.”

She snapped to attention, slapped his hand away, and took a decisive step back. “Just because I agreed not to treat you like a stranger doesn’t mean we’re suddenly close enough for you to repay my debts as though they were your own.”

The warmth of her skin vanished, leaving his palm cold and, somehow, his chest even colder. Of course. That promise not to treat me as a stranger was never a promise to like me again. She can still bristle, still refuse the

1/2

13:02 Sun, Dec 780.

Chapter 618 Misplaced Accusations

familiarity we once took for granted.

ས12

+10 Free Coins

He withdrew his hand, voice scarcely above a whisper. “I’m not doing this for you, Laura–I’m doing it for myself. If he hadn’t stepped in back then, I’d be drowning even deeper in guilt for standing by while you

suffered.”

Her brows knitted; the explanation still sat oddly on her ears.

“Unless, of course, you’d rather I left him to fend for himself?” Weston countered, lifting an eyebrow.

“No. Please, keep helping him,” Laura answered at once.

Laura knew Harvey’s past as a club model still shadowed him; men like Zachary could reappear without warning, wielding power, money, and entitlement like weapons.

She had earned some success and savings, yet against that kind of pedigree, she was painfully aware of her limits. Weston’s backing would raise a wall no spoiled heir dared test, an extra shield Harvey deserved and she would not willingly dismantle.

As they stepped out of the building, Weston said, “Let me drive

you

home.”

“That’s not necessary. I can manage,” she replied, starting toward the parking lot.

“Didn’t you promise not to treat me like a stranger?” he said, stepping in front of her. “Is even a simple ride too much for you to stomach?”

“I’m not… Fine, give me a ride.” She sighed; the day had been good enough to allow this concession.

Besides, it seemed petty to spark a new argument over something so trivial.

Weston slid into the driver’s seat of Laura’s sedan, familiar hands finding the ignition as though he had driven it a hundred times.

“Wait. You didn’t bring your own car?” Laura asked, fastening her seat belt.

“I did. I’ll drop you off, then the chauffeur will come for me,” Weston said, as though the arrangement were the most natural thing in the world.

Her breath snagged; words refused to form. Weston would rather drive her home himself than ask his driver to. A while later, she said, “Weston.”

13:02 Sun, Dec 7 80.