The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 632

Chapter 632 My Duty

Chapter 632 My Duty

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Fabian stood mute, argument gutted from his throat.

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“Julius is my husband; protecting him is my duty. I’ll guard myself and our unborn child, because only if we’re safe can he be.”

With that, she set off, heels crunching lightly as she advanced toward the gates.

Gavin fell in behind her; the Shadow Guards and household sentries traded bewildered looks before trailing at a respectful distance.

At the manor’s threshold, Gavin spoke up. “You’re planning to drive there? Even flooring it, you’ll still be over an hour behind Julius.”

No road, no engine could compress the remaining hour.

“Drive? That would waste precious minutes,” Quinn scoffed.

“Waste precious minutes?” Gavin echoed, brow knitting in confusion. The next second, a distant rotor thrum sliced the air, and color drained from his face.

A helicopter–its blades beating like war drums–roared into view.

The aircraft swept lower, nose pointing directly at the estate.

Gavin’s eyes widened, disbelief freezing him as the chopper drew closer, wind whipping his

coat.

He blinked, trying to keep up. Quinn decides to reach Yarburn by helicopter? The Whitethorn family’s reach could certainly conjure such a craft, yet barely thirty minutes had passed since she woke—and the rotors were already beating toward them? When did she place that call? While she was changing?

Right then, the helicopter swept in and settled before them, dust spiraling around the landing skids. The door slid open with a hydraulic hiss that sounded like a drawn breath before a

shout.

They jumped down–two tall, broad–shouldered men–and snapped a salute. “Captain, long

time no see!”

Quinn straightened her spine, her movement crisp and automatic, and returned the salute with solemn precision.

“It has been a while,” Quinn said, her hand dropping. “But remember, I’m retired now. I don’t

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Chapter 632 My Duty

wear the title anymore.”

“Retired or not,” the pair insisted in perfect sync, “you will always be our captain.”

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Gavin followed Quinn up the narrow steps into the cabin and finally put faces to their names -Raymond Flint and Laurence Lawson, both once of her Falcon Special Forces unit.

Raymond sat like a slab of granite–thick–chested, buzz–cut, dark brows shadowing keen eyes. Every inch of him shouted soldier.

Laurence, by contrast, looked almost scholarly. His features were refined, his frame lean to the point of fragile–an appearance that belied the patch on his shoulder.

Gavin, long past the age of judging by surface impressions, knew better than to underestimate either man.

After all, had he judged Quinn on beauty alone, he would never have imagined the woman capable of sending Joaquin straight into prison.

Joaquin had once been groomed as the Whitethorn heir until tragedy splintered the family. His ambition and ruthlessness outstripped ordinary opponents.

Now Raymond and Laurence occupied the dual controls up front, hands moving across the panels with muscle–memory precision, while Quinn and Gavin buckled into the rear seats.

“Did you bring everything I asked for?” Quinn called over the thrum, addressing the men at the controls.

“Everything’s on board,” Raymond replied. “Yarburn police are already on standby. Given Joaquin’s status as an international fugitive, the Ministry of Defense has authorized us full logistical support.”

The words hit Gavin like cold water. In the brief span Quinn spent changing, she had rallied former teammates and secured official backing in a foreign city.

She was, he realized, even more resourceful than he had dared assume,

“Good. Then we move.”

“Captain, you’re carrying a child now. When operations start, Ray and I will handle the physical work. You focus on command.”

“Exactly. If that little one in your belly gets so much as startled, the boys back at base will bury

us when we return.”

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