The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 661

Chapter 661 The Plan

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Megan’s eyes locked on Casey, cold enough to frost glass. “Answer those two questions, and listen closely: if you dare lie to me, I will come back and end you myself.”

Sweat sprang across Casey’s brow; he bobbed his head like a terrified pigeon. “I… I wouldn’t dare! I’ll tell you everything, exactly as it happened.”

Edmund had ordered absolute silence about Dawn, but when weighed against a bullet–or whatever Megan had in mind–Casey decided his survival was worth more than any promised payment.

Meanwhile, in the hospital, Quinn lay motionless beneath crisp white sheets, her breathing so shallow it barely stirred the sterile air.

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Beside her, a doctor, George Beaumont, pressed a syringe into the IV line, the clear liquid creeping toward her veins with glacial inevitability.

The young nurse hovered, wringing her hands. “Dr. George, are you sure this is safe? An overdose could strain her heart.”

George’s gaze cut toward her, icy and sharp. “If you’re smart, you’d keep your mouth shut. From now on, you’ll administer this injection twice a day. Don’t miss a single dose.”

She swallowed, voice barely a whisper. “But… if something goes wrong-

George’s tone dropped to a chill that seemed to lower the room’s temperature. “We’re merely granting this vegetable a quick way out. Living like this is torment, wouldn’t you agree?”

Conflict flickered across the nurse’s eyes, compassion wrestling with the weight of the envelope tucked in her locker.

George’s voice hardened. “Remember the cash you already pocketed. Sympathy didn’t stop you taking it, so don’t let it stop you now.”

The nurse fell silent; in the end, money smothered the last protest in her throat.

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“Keep watch over her, and make no mistakes,” George warned. “Each dose must be small, gradual, and so clean it looks like natural death. Do you understand?”

“Y–Yes. I understand,” she answered, the words tasting of guilt.

Neither of them noticed the silhouette standing just beyond the doorway, unmoving as a shadow carved from stone.

Ever since the banquet, Emma had been frustrated. Her piano teacher, Jessie, now praised Dawn after only two lessons, calling her a phenomenon critics wait their whole lives to meet.

Once, every compliment had belonged to Emma.

She even said to Emma during classes, when her performance was poor, “I know you’re not yourself because of Dawn. But remember, there will always be someone more gifted. You may be a ten–year

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Chapter 661 The Plan

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miracle, yet Dawn could be a centennial one. Stop comparing yourself to her and concentrate on your

own music.”

The words, meant as comfort, burrowed under Emma’s skin like thorns. Does that mean I will never surpass her?

At home, it was worse. Her father, Edmund, hovered around Dawn with a tenderness he had never shown his own daughter, as though the girl were blood of his blood.

Emma stormed into the sitting room, checks flushed. “Mom, I can’t stand Dawn living with us. Since she arrived, Dad circles her like she’s the sun. Send her away, or I swear I’ll run away from home!”

Mindy shared her daughter’s resentment; her husband’s devotion to Dawn felt excessive, almost worshipful, as if the girl were a fragile treasure cradled in his palms.

Were it not for Dawn’s unmistakably Aplothian features, Mindy might have suspected the girl was her husband’s illegitimate child.

She had never cared whether the girl was an orphan or what; what mattered was simple–no other child would be allowed to steal the spotlight that rightly belonged to her own daughter.

“Then we’ll make sure she never finds her way back,” Mindy whispered, stroking Emma’s hair.

The next morning, Mindy packed a wicker picnic basket and drove Emma and Dawn toward the countryside, humming as though the world were perfect. On the way home, Dawn sipped the juice Mindy handed her and drifted into a heavy, syrupy sleep in the rear seat.

When Dawn’s eyelids finally fluttered open, the scene before her bore no resemblance to the sunlit estate; she found herself surrounded by alien walls and restless shadows.

The air throbbed with murky scarlet bulbs, each glow smearing the pavement like dried wine and hinting at the kind of night business conducted here.

Red–light district… that’s what they called it back at the orphanage.

She had never set foot in such a place; her knowledge came only from hushed conversations among the orphanage staff. They had said children did not belong here.

Adults loved this neon dusk, they said, slipping in after dark the way moths chase flame.

“Listen carefully,” one staff member at the orphanage had warned, wagging a finger. “If a child wanders into that place and the wrong people notice, she may never get out. Terrible things happen in alleys like those.”

Now, crouched inside a cramped side alley, Dawn stared around in bewilderment.

So this is the red–light district after all.

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