The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 718

Chapter 718 Broken Illusions 
Of course he dared; the only reason he’d married her was the child she once carried. 
When the gavel fell, Stonehurst attorneys paid off the headlines, then paid her farewell. 
Her parents boarded a plane and rewrote the family story without her name in it. 
Parole dumped her into Trent’s bland rental, two mismatched chairs and a silence they pretended was peace. 
She’d skimmed bills from the Grafton stash before; his only answer had been a tightened jaw. 
She never expected that restraint to shatter into violence. 
His gaze dragged over her matted hair with visible disgust. “Jacinda already told you–you’re no Ms. Stonehurst now. What makes you untouchable?” 
Behind the sneer, she caught a flicker of something that looked like regret and curdled into hatred. 
She felt the unspoken accusation pour over her–he blamed her for the future he’d lost. 
A sharp, humorless laugh burst from him, colder than the draft crawling under the door. 
“Trent Grafton!” She spat his name. “You were a farm–town nobody. I was blind to lift you up.” 
Trent’s knuckles whitened. “You impersonated my savior and made me betray Quinn. Without that divorce, I’d still be a CEO. You destroyed everything.” 
Words failed him; fists took their place. Blow after blow hammered her ribs, each one weighted with grievances she could only guess at. 
She lashed back, nails scraping, knees driving, fury giving her borrowed strength. 
Penelope stood frozen, Jacinda gawking; little Violet buried her face in Penelope’s cardigan and wailed. 
“Ruined you?” she screamed, wrenching his wrist. “Success left with Quinn because you were nothing without her!” 
The words staggered him; his fist hovered midair, then dropped as he stumbled back a step. 
A far–off look crept over him, as though replaying a decision made years too late. 
She watched regret soften the edges of his anger, leaving him hollow. 
Sidonie let out a shaky laugh. “So what? Quinn climbed onto Julius Whitethorn’s yacht and ended up dead.” 
Picturing Quinn’s watery grave usually steadied Sidonie’s pulse. 
Victorious yet lifeless–Sidonie savored the cruel symmetry every time it surfaced. 
Trent’s voice dropped to a tremor. “She’s still alive.” 
Sidonie blinked, disoriented. “Who?” 
“Quinn,” he whispered. “She returned as Madam Whitethorn, untouchable. You’re the one living like trash.” 
Air stopped; walls tilted around her. 
Quinn… alive. 
Her palm smacked the bathroom tile, pulse hammering in her ears. “This can’t be happening!” 
How did Quinn earn the right to keep breathing so easily? 
My own face was a ruin, a mockery, every bruise shouting that I’d been cast aside. 
***** 
The scarlet gown flowed over her hips, and the color pushed warmth back into her cheeks. 
She lifted a hand, letting the strand of snowy pearls at her throat catch the light; the matching earrings cooled her skin and made her feel almost regal. 
The woman in the mirror answered with a quiet, satisfied smile, one she hadn’t worn in years. 
Beside her, the stylist leaned in, studying every eyelash as though perfection were a matter of life and death. 
The door swung inward with a sudden thud, and a tiny figure in a matching red dress burst across the carpet. 
“Wow, Mommy, you look so pretty!” The child’s eyes were wide as coins, and the awe in them squeezed Quinn’s heart with soft, unexpected pride. 
“And you, my little lady, are stunning,” Quinn replied, letting the words wrap her daughter like a ribbon. 
The girl giggled, a bubbling sound, then spun in a full circle, skirt flaring like a new blossom. 
Quinn remembered Julius promising that tonight’s banquet would be crowded with children her age; Dawn had clapped at the idea of making friends. 
Even now the girl rocked on her heels, buzzing with curiosity for faces she hadn’t met yet. 
Watching that unfiltered joy, Quinn could do nothing but smile back, warmth unfurling under her ribs. 
Since the move back to Jexburgh, Dawn’s laughter had grown louder, her questions bolder, as though the city’s air itself encouraged her. 
Quinn turned, catching sight of Julius framed by his charcoal suit. 
Black jacket, white shirt–common colors, yet on him they radiated a restrained nobility. 
Those sharp, lifted eyes fixed on her now, their focus so steady it felt like a physical touch. 
She inhaled, then set one foot forward, and another, closing the space between them without the usual hesitant sway. 
No crutch balanced her weight; only muscle and will carried her. 
“Your legs…” Surprise flickered across his gaze, quick but unmistakable. 
“The therapy has been paying off,” she said, steady and bright. “Walking through a banquet hall will be easy.” 
“Yay! Mommy can walk! Does that mean you can run and play with me too?” 
“Yes. When I’m fully healed, we’ll do everything together, Aurie.” 
Aurie squealed and launched herself into Quinn’s arms, the force nearly tipping them both. into laughter.