The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 719

Chapter 719 Banquet Preparations. 
Quinn stroked the soft crown of her daughter’s head. “Mommy loves Aurie most, too.” 
A faint crease tugged at Julius’s brow, gone almost as soon as it appeared. 
He murmured the word under his breath, as if testing its taste: “Most love?” 
Julius stared at the faint reflection of Quinn’s smile in the elevator wall, a dull heat crawling up his neck. Obviously the person she treasured most should be- 
The thought splintered as her soft voice cut in. “What’s wrong? What are you thinking about?” 
Sound rushed back: distant music, the hush of sliding doors. Shame pricked behind his ribs. Good grief–he was jealous of his own daughter, jealous of a child. 
He tugged at his cuff, forcing breath into his lungs. “Nothing. Let’s go.” 
***** 
Louisa paused beneath the crystal chandeliers, the swarm of guests churning like bright water around her. Every pair of eyes seemed to reach for the Whitethorn name. Clutching Verity’s small hand, she had slipped inside only because the Lu family crest still opened doors. 
Two years of carefully parading her child beside Julius had fattened the Lu family’s ledgers- and, for once, her own standing at home. Servants who used to ignore her now bowed a beat too low. 
But if the Whitethorns dropped her, all of it would evaporate. She pictured the whispers- unwed mother, scandal, worthless–and a cold film coated her skin. 
No. 
She would never crawl back to that life. 
Yet Whitethorn Manor had stayed barred to her these past weeks; every gate, every butler, a silent refusal. 
So tonight she gambled on this banquet, hoping Julius would at least have to face her in public before cutting her and Verity loose. 
“Louisa, long time no see.” The lilting greeting floated over the strings of the quartet. 
Three socialites drifted closer–daughters of families who once sneered, then flattered her the moment she linked arms with the Whitethorns. Their smiles were thin, polished, counting favors. 
She matched them with a practiced curve of the lips. “Long time.” 
“I said it, didn’t I? Louisa would never miss a Whitethorn party,” Isla Kingsley laughed, the sound brittle. “So what if Master Whitethorn has a new woman in a wheelchair?” 
Louisa’s fingers tightened on her clutch. “You know about that?” 
“Seems you know too,” one of them tittered. “Rumor is she marched a child right into the Whitethorn household. Copying you and Verity, perhaps?” 
“As if anyone can just step in as Master Whitethorn’s daughter’s stand–in.” 
A sudden stir rippled from the entrance, voices rising like wind against glass. 
Heads turned. Louisa’s spine locked, breath snagging when she followed their gaze. 
Julius walked in with Quinn on his arm–and their little girl trotting between them. 
How-? Louisa’s mind stuttered. Quinn was upright, effortless, the red gown clinging to a body that had looked frail and sunken only days ago. 
Memory offered the last image of Quinn: sallow skin, wheels glinting. Now the woman’s back was straight, hair swept up, eyes clear and unwavering. 
Guests whispered, pointing at the scarlet figure beside Master Whitethorn. 
He never allowed a woman to hold his arm, let alone arrive with a child in matching red. The tableau read glaringly domestic. 
Together they looked–unthinkably–like a family of three. 
Every gaze swung back to Louisa, the socialites included. 
This time, sympathy and quiet ridicule flickered in their eyes like candles guttering in a draft. 
She had barely stepped past the champagne tower when a sharp whisper slashed across the chatter behind her. “Who is that woman? Don’t tell me she climbed into Master Whitethorn’s circle the same way Louisa did–through a child!” The words struck like a fingernail on porcelain, brittle and hard. 
Another voice, lighter yet no kinder, floated after the first. “That child looks practically copied from Master Whitethorn–those up–tilted eyes, it’s uncanny.” Heat pricked the base of Louisa’s neck; every syllable felt rehearsed for cruelty. 
A third woman chimed in, academic in tone–as if cataloging specimens. “That slanted gaze is a Whitethorn inheritance. Outside the Whitethorn residence you barely ever see eyes like that.” Louisa swallowed, tasting metal where champagne should have been. 
The chorus tightened, now baiting the one person they knew could hear. “Louisa, that boy looks more like Master Whitethorn’s real heir than your daughter ever did. If the woman uses him to steal your place, do you think the Lu family will still keep you?” Louisa’s grip on her clutch stiffened until the clasp bit her palm.. 
The taunts didn’t fade when the voices paused; they vibrated inside her ribs, each echo a bruise that refused to settle. 
Behind a practiced smile, she ground her molars so hard she felt the tremor travel up to her temples. 
Imitation? No. The child was Master Whitethorn’s own blood, a daughter carved from his bone structure and Quinn’s smile–Louisa had confirmed it herself. 
And the woman with the girl–quiet, almost ghostlike–was Quinn, the wife who had vanished five years ago while rumors bloomed like weeds in her absence. 
No announcement had been made, so the ballroom still treated the pair as curiosities instead of rightful family. 
But Master Whitethorn had escorted them in person tonight; that alone screamed intention- he meant to paint their names across every chandelier before the evening ended. 
Louisa inhaled, bent her lips into something polite, and answered the hovering women, “The Lu family has always been grateful to our Verity- they even granted him ten percent of their shares. Space for us has never been in question.” 
That ten percent had been her leverage- wrested from the Lu board the day Verity first called on Master Whitethorn, while every executive’s eyes glittered with hope of favor. 
Now it was the final plank keeping her above open water. 
A movement flickered at the edge of her vision–an opportunity or a threat, she couldn’t tell. She curled her fingers around Verity’s small hand. “Pardon us, I have a matter to attend to,” she murmured, steering him toward the shadows. 
As their footsteps retreated, the whispers sharpened again, needlepoint precise. “Hmph, do they really think a mere ten percent buys them safety in the Lu household?” 
“Back then the Lus called them an embarrassment,” someone added, voice thick with satisfaction. 
“She thought one child would guarantee luxury–looks like her gilded days are ending.” 
Louisa didn’t turn, but her reflection in the darkened window revealed a storm–cloud scowl she could no longer mask. 
Of course–when fortune favored her, these same mouths fed her compliments as though praise were oxygen. 
Lose momentum, and every sweet word curdled into contempt. 
Once Quinn and the girl were formally acknowledged, Louisa’s own foothold inside the Lu mansion would crumble to dust–that certainty drummed in her pulse.