The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 715

Chapter 715 Fractured Greetings 
Trent jerked against the guards, voice cracking. 
was supposed to grow the company bigger and bigger–be the brilliant tech star they wrote about!” 
“Not some washed–up janitor in filthy coveralls! he spat, as if naming it could change the uniform on his back. 
A sudden blur of polished leather smashed into Trent’s chest. The impact boomed through the garage like a dropped toolbox. 
Trent’s body arced, then slammed onto the concrete, arms pin–wheeling uselessly as the breath shot out of him. 
Before he could lift his head, that same shoe planted itself on his sternum, pinning him like a specimen. 
A wet crackle sounded beneath the pressure, and Trent’s scream told Quinn that something inside him feared it had shattered. 
Quinn’s gaze lifted, and the face above the polished shoe came into focus–cool, composed, unmistakable. 
It was Julius. 
The corridor stilled. Julius’s voice knifed through the hush. “Rumors about me and who?” he asked, the words iced over. Gavin felt the skin at the back of his neck prickle; that tone never meant anything good. 
Trent’s shoes scraped, barely holding him upright. “I–I was talking nonsense,” he sputtered. “There… there’s no rumor.” The denial wobbled like a loose tooth, and Gavin could almost taste the panic rolling off him. 
Julius studied him, gaze so flat and sharp Gavin imagined one wrong syllable would split Trent open. 
Julius’s voice dropped lower. “Whatever happens between my wife and me is none of your concern. Since your mouth loves noise, maybe I should silence the source.” The threat slithered across Gavin’s skin, cold and wet. 
Without warning, Julius bent, fingers clamping the soft flesh of Trent’s cheeks, pulling his jaw wide as though lining up for a butcher’s cut. 
Trent shook so hard Gavin heard his knees knock. “N–no… please… spare me, Master Whitethorn…” 
The words came out mashed and broken, lips pinned beneath Julius’s grip. 
Julius’s eyes frosted over further, two empty winter skies refusing mercy. 
Then Quinn’s voice drifted in, gentle but firm. Julius, let’s go. I’d like to go home.” 
Julius stilled. He lifted his head toward her. “What, you can’t bear me hurting your ex- husband?” he asked, voice calm enough to hide a buried fuse. “After what he said, you still don’t want me to take his tongue?” 
The evenness of Julius’s tone rattled Gavin worse than shouting; every syllable felt like a lid clamped over boiling water, and his scalp tingled, waiting for steam to blast free. 
Oh, he realized, Julius was angry–truly angry. 
Gavin had witnessed countless negotiations, surgeries, and crises, yet he could count on one hand the times he had seen Julius lose composure. 
Usually Julius floated above everything, detached, as though nothing in the world could stick to him long enough to matter. 
That aloofness meant fury rarely found a foothold. 
Everything changed once Quinn arrived; color seeped back into Julius the way dawn pushes up through night. 
Yet, despite having skipped the hypnotherapy session, Julius still bristled at any slight to Quinn, and the intensity startled Gavin. 
Quinn exhaled, weary rather than soft. “I’m not reluctant. It’s simply pointless. The Whitethorn legal team is thorough. Plenty of people heard Trent’s lies. When I sue him for defamation, witnesses will line up. No need for blood.” 
Trent’s eyes bulged. “Quinn, I only spoke the truth! We were married once–doesn’t that history mean anything to you?” The desperation rasped, ugly. 
Gavin swore silently. Did Trent have a death wish? 
Of all possible angles, Trent had chosen the one most likely to shatter every remaining nerve in Julius. 
Quinn’s expression hardened. “There is no history left between us, Trent. We divorced. That severed every tie.” 
The thought flickered across Gavin’s mind–she must regret ever saying yes to him. 
Trent lunged at the opening. “See, Julius? She cast me off without a blink. She’ll drop you too the moment a taller ladder appears!” The taunt barely hung in the air before Julius’s heel came down hard, grinding bone against marble 
Trent yelped, features warping as fresh pain flashed scarlet across them. 
Quinn turned to the nearby guards. “Escort Trent to the precinct. Then call Mr. Wooley–tell him the Whitethorn legal team is filing a defamation suit, no settlements.” 
“Quinn, how can you treat me like this? No wonder you’ve fallen so low–you can barely stand, you cripple. Does Julius really want a broken woman when he could have any-” 
The sentence cut off as a palm muffled his mouth and dragged him away, words swallowed by the corridor walls. 
Quinn turned to Gavin, mild again. “Are you still coming back to Whitethorn Manor with us?” 
Gavin let out a small, nervous laugh. “I’ll pass… You two go ahead. I need to check on a patient at the hospital.” 
He hovered near the waiting cars. The air around Whitethorn Manor felt wrong, swollen with the kind of trouble that chews up bystanders. If he climbed in, he’d be the extra body they sacrificed without blinking. 
Better to disappear now, he decided, before anyone noticed the escape route he was carving for himself. 
Besides, the little one would still be there tomorrow, or next week–time was never the problem. 
***** 
Quinn eased herself onto the back seat, crutches folded awkwardly against her side. Julius slid in after her, the door thudding shut hard enough to make the windows hiccup, 
The chauffeur kept both hands glued to the wheel, shoulders stiff, as if the wrong breath might set off an explosion in the cramped cabin 
Beside her, Julius’s lips flattened into a pale blade. Quinn, sensing the edge, let silence settle like fresh snow between them. 
The car filled with a pressure that had no sound only weight, and even the leather seats seemed to shrink from it. 
Gravel crunched; they’d arrived. Quinn reached for her crutches, but a sudden sweep of arms lifted her clean off the seat. Julius cradled her sideways and strode toward the main house, every step a silent command. 
Julius, where exactly are you taking me? Quin voice bounced again his collehote breathless more from surprise than the short distance. 
“Your room.” The two words fell like sleet from his already wintry mouth 
Quinn felt his chest rise too fast under her palm whatever Trent had whispered earlier clearly still crawled through his head. 
She had never known him to care about gossip, get tonight every dismissive shrug he owned had vanished. 
“Is this anger really about what Trent said? The question slid out before she could smooth the corners. 
His stride hitched. “You made me spare him on the spot–no hidden agenda at all?