The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 627

Chapter 627 A Silent Farewell

Julius studied her sleeping face, as if trying to burn the image into memory.

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“You can’t hear me anymore,” he whispered, brushing a stray lock from her cheek, “but it’s okay. Gavin will repeat every word once I’m gone. The moment I leave, I’ll have Gavin released–he’ll watch over you for me.”

He bent and pressed a feather–light kiss to her forehead, letting his lips linger as though sealing a vow.

“Quinn, I love you. In this world, there’s no one I cherish more. You’ve saved me time and again; this time, let me be the shield.”

With that, he straightened, turned, and slipped from the room without another sound.

On the bed, Quinn’s brow furrowed as though battling a nightmare, and a single tear slid down to vanish in the pillow’s white cotton.

Don’t… Julius, don’t go. We don’t need this kind of protection… we need you.

But the drug pulled her deeper, smothering her protests in merciful darkness.

Outside the Whitethorn residence, a fleet of black sedans idled in a disciplined row, engines purring like restrained beasts.

Fabian, the ever–precise private secretary, stepped forward. “Mr. Whitethorn, every piece is in place. Do we depart now?”

“Yes. And you stay here.” Julius‘ tone left no room for debate. “Your sole duty is Quinn’s safety. At any moment, under any circumstance, her life comes first–remember that.”

“Understood,” Fabian replied, surprise flickering in his eyes before discipline smothered it.

He had assumed he would accompany Julius to Yarburn, not remain behind as guardian to the mistress of the house. The order rattled him more than he cared to show.

Julius climbed into the lead car. Doors slammed, the convoy rolled forward, and the manor’s iron gates swung wide, swallowing the night behind them.

The sleek convoy of black sedans sliced through the early–morning haze, the entire column racing toward Yarburn like steel arrows loosed from a single bow.

Inside the lead car, Julius let his gaze drift, catching one last, fleeting glimpse of the manor

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receding in the rear window. The manor stood solemn and gray, its stone walls already dissolving into the mist that hugged the hills.

He lowered his eyes to the scarlet cord knotted around his wrist–a simple, handmade bracelet Quinn had fastened there. The red threads glimmered in the dim cabin light, a quiet promise humming against his pulse. If destiny required him to belong to any one soul in this life, he had long since chosen.

Julius Whitethorn would belong to Quinn Bridger, and to no one else.

Fabian strode across the back courtyard to the converted storage room where Gavin had been kept. Without slowing, he signaled the guards, and the heavy door swung open with a clang of metal bolts.

“Dr. Huxley, you may come out,” Fabian said, his voice cool and precise, as if they were meeting in a conference room rather than a makeshift cell.

Gavin fixed Fabian with a hard stare, unease tightening in his chest. “Where is Julius? Has he already gone?”

“Yes. Mr. Whitethorn has left the estate,” Fabian replied, every syllable clipped and final.

“And you simply let him? Do you even know what he plans to do?” Gavin demanded, frustration sharpening each word.

“Whatever Mr. Whitethorn intends is his affair. If he chooses not to tell me, I do not pry. My duty is to follow his instructions.” Fabian’s tone never wavered.

“Then what orders did he give you?” Gavin asked, leaning in as though sheer proximity might shake an answer loose.

“At all times, protect Mrs. Whitethorn’s safety,” Fabian said, delivering the words like a stamped seal.

Gavin understood at once. So Julius still doesn’t trust me. He brought Fabian in to keep an eye on every move I make.

“Where is Quinn now?” Gavin pressed.

“She’s in the master bedroom. If you want to, follow me,” Fabian said, already turning toward the hallway.

Gavin fell in step a pace behind, his mind racing with possibilities he dared not voice.

Inside the bedroom, soft lamplight spilled across Quinn Whitethorn, who lay in a deep,

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unbroken sleep on the expansive bed. Her breathing was slow, almost fragile, against the hush of the room.

Gavin’s medical instinct flared. Julius must have given her a sedative–knowing the man’s obsession with certainty, the dose would keep her under for hours.

He dragged a chair closer and sat. “Where did Julius go?”

“Mr. Whitethorn instructed me not to share that information with you, Dr. Huxley.” Fabian stood motionless near the window, the picture of composed loyalty.

“You make an exemplary secretary,” Gavin muttered, annoyance grinding between his teeth.

Tight–lipped as a vault. Digging truth out of Fabian will cost blood or time–and I’m short on both.

“I’m merely doing my job,” Fabian said, a smile that never reached his eyes flickering across his face.

A strange tension seeped through the bedroom–the hush before a storm none of them could name, yet all of them felt.

Miles away, inside the speeding sedan, Julius accepted an incoming call. The dashboard screen glowed with Weston Windore’s name.

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