The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 668

Chapter 668 Borrowed Thrones

Mrs. Lamont.

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Whenever Fabian–or anyone else inside the manor–called her, the name Lamont clung to the front like a sticky label, a constant reminder that she was not, and never would be, the true lady of the Whitethorn family.

And yet, the last woman to hold that title had died, long since turned to dust.

“I overstepped,” Zara said, forcing a brittle smile. “Today is Raina’s appointed time with Mr. Whitethorn. I have brought her for his audience.”

“Please, follow me,” Fabian said. He set off without waiting for an answer. Zara tightened her grip on her daughter’s hand and fell in behind him, skirts whispering over marble.

At a heavy oak door, Fabian rapped twice, then pushed it open. “Mr. Whitethorn, Mrs. Lamont and Ms. Lamont have arrived.”

“Show them in.” Julius‘ voice drifted out, cool as water drawn from a deep well.

Fabian stepped aside. “Mrs. Lamont, please.”

Zara’s lips tipped upward. She guided her daughter past Fabian, allowing herself a sideways glance filled with quiet scorn.

So what if my child is only a stand–in? The original is dead and buried.

Her daughter, she reminded herself, was now Julius‘ only child.

One day, the people in this manor would drop the Lamont surname and address her as “Mrs. Whitethorn“, and Fabian would learn that she, too, possessed the right to govern Whitethorn affairs.

“What do you mean you lost the comatose patient?” Edmund’s roar rattled the room.

A vegetative body held no value–so he had believed. Yet someone had marched into the hospital and spirited the patient away.

“Do we know who took her?” Edmund asked, voice tight.

“We pulled the security footage and had the orphanage staff identify the culprit. A woman named Megan Yates took the patient,” the operative reported.

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Chapter 668 Borrowed Thrones

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“And who exactly is she?” Edmund’s brow knotted. He vaguely recalled Dawn mentioning that

name once.

Back then, he had dismissed it. Now the same woman had dared to extract a helpless body from a guarded ward.

“She originally placed both Dawn Whitethorn and the patient under the orphanage’s care. She wires money each year. We know she works in the capital, but her exact occupation remains unclear. Also, a nurse named Angela vanished from the hospital the same night–we suspect she is Megan’s accomplice.”

“Keep digging–and alert the police. I want them involved in the hunt,” Edmund ordered.

He enjoyed a comfortable rapport with the local chief; generous envelopes had ensured that for years.

Once the police located the missing patient, a convenient pretext could end the matter permanently, eliminating future trouble.

“Understood. I’ll head to the station now.” The operative’s answer came fast and eager.

The moment Edmund ended the call, a feral glare cut across his eyes. He would allow no loose ends. Whether it meant snatching the child or silencing the girl who lingered in a coma, no one was permitted to fracture the design he had spent years stitching together.

Across town, Bowen and Dawn had spent the entire night wedged beneath Bowen’s narrow bed, air thick with dust and the sour perfume of fear. All night, her tiny hand rested over his eyes, a warm, trembling shield that turned the darkness into something almost gentle.

Hours crept by.

At last, he felt those fingers slacken and slide away.

He caught her hand before it hit the floorboards, stifling any sound, then turned his head. The little girl had simply fallen asleep on the cold planks, cheek pressed against the wood like it was a feather pillow.

She was so much younger than he was, and she was tossed into a red–light district, chased until her lungs burned. After a night packed with terror, exhaustion had finally stolen her away.

From the corner of his eye, Bowen could still see his mother’s lifeless body sprawled beside the dresser, limbs stiff in a grotesque farewell.

He wondered what had flashed through Dawn’s mind while she covered his eyes, keeping him from that sight. She was even smaller than he was–surely the corpse frightened her more.

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Chapter 668 Borrowed Thrones

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