The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 680

Chapter 680 Vanished Mistress Returns

So the woman was indeed the wife the Whitethorn patriarch had searched for these past five years

“N–No, impossible!” Edmund stammered. She’s an impostor plastic surgery, that’s it. The real Mrs. Whitethorn vanished in Azania; she can’t be here in Kandria

Plastic surgery?

Fabian’s gaze settled on Quinn’s face.

Over the years, more than a few women had carved their features to mimic hers, arriving at Whitethorn Manor feigning amnesia, hungry for power.

Every single one had failed.

The woman before him was leaner than she had been five years ago, yet the steel–set calm in her bones and the unwavering fire in her eyes remained untouched–traits no scalpel could counterfeit.

“She is Mrs. Whitethorn–beyond dispute,” Fabian said. Color drained from the faces of Edmund’s men and the uniformed officers; their eyes on Quinn slid from contempt to dread.

Fabian’s voice hardened. “Does that mean you intend to harm the Whitethorn family’s lady?” In the same breath, his operatives clicked off safeties, black barrels locking onto Edmund’s entourage.

The warning was silent but unmistakable–one wrong move and bullets would fly.

“This… This can’t be!” Edmund muttered, pressing the blood–slick bandage to his wrist, his complexion the color of chalk.

If the comatose woman truly was the Whitethorn patriarch’s missing wife, then nothing he had done tonight courted favor–it had signed his death warrant.

No. I refuse to sit here and wait for the executioner’s blade. We have come too far to turn back; from this point on, it is all–or–nothing.

“You’re nothing but an actor she hired–her partner in this cheap charade. Otherwise, why would the timing be so perfect? She wakes up, and you show up. Who bankrolled this circus? Who is really pulling your strings?”

“Wait–are you saying these people are not from the Whitethorn family?” the chief exclaimed.

The Whitethorn name carried such weight in Jexburgh that even the police chief of this sleepy town. recognized it on instinct.

“Of course they are not,” Edmund barked. “I have been to Azania and met Mr. Whitethorn myself; never once did I see a secretary like him! So stop gawking and shoot them. I swear they are impostors, and that so–called wife is nothing but a vegetable dragged in for sympathy.”

“What?” The chief froze.

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“Just pull the trigger, and I will make you a very rich man…”

Bang! The sudden report ripped through the stifling air.

The bullet scared past Edmund’s cheek, hot powder burning his skin. Quinn had fired that shot.

“Edmund, do you really believe anyone here intends to die with you, or that this sorry lot can actually kill me?”

Crimson with fury, Edmund scanned the room only to find heads lowered and shoulders caving in. Meanwhile, Fabian’s squad, precise as a scalpel, nudged their barrels closer, tightening the circle.

Fabian watched Quinn with a quiet, growing awe. Who would expect a woman fresh from a coma to wield a gun with such glacial calm? She had even deployed a fleet of drones before his arrival, turning the sky into her shield.

Thank heavens Mr. Whitethorn had fallen for a woman this unbreakable. Perhaps only Mrs. Whitethorn’s return could draw him back from the edge of madness.

Another volley erupted outside–boots scuffled, steel cracked bone, and gunfire punched the night.

“My men are here at last!” Edmund laughed, voice echoing off concrete. “Not one of you will leave alive tonight.”

Fabian’s brow furrowed, a single crease of cold displeasure.

“Listen up,” Edmund shouted to Fabian’s men, “kill that woman and that pretend secretary. Do it, and you walk out of here alive–with pockets full of money.”

“Who just threatened my sister?” roared a towering newcomer as he strode in, dragging an unconscious man behind him.

Thud! The man hit the floor like a sack of wet sand and skidded to a stop at Edmund’s polished shoes.

Edmund’s eyes widened; the bloodied face staring up at him belonged to the very operative he had stationed as his safety net.

“Y–You… how did…”

“Mr. Arnold… all our men… they’ve all been captured!” the man said.

A hard knot of panic lodged in Edmund’s throat, choking off the rest of his words.

Edmund’s breath seized as a chilling realization sliced through the chaos. All of them… captured?

He had deployed nearly every operative under his command, ordering them to converge on this remote estate and seal it tight. The plan was airtight, a noose meant to prevent any mishap while he disposed of

the comatose woman.

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