The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 729

Chapter 729
Verity’s head snapped up. “She’s not a servant’s kid!” Both men paused, surprise cutting their movements clean in half. Words fought their way past the tremor in his throat. “She… she’s my stand–in.” “Stand–in?” one of them echoed, frowning. Verity forced the lie out whole: “She is Verity Lu of the Lu family. Until I returned to the Whitethorn residence, she took my place.” 
The statement rang in his ears like a struck bell. He had lied–switched their names as cleanly as flipping two cards. Maybe that lie could save them both, or at least save her. 
If his mother and the father he barely knew had truly ordered this snatch, surely they would ransom the child they believed to be their own blood. And when they came, maybe he could pull Dawn out of this nightmare right behind them. 
He replayed the earlier orders in his head, the logic snapping into place. If Dawn pretended to be the Whitethorn kid, the job stayed clean, the payout stayed certain. That disguise meant safety–for them and for the girl. 
“Verity?” The taller brute’s voice cracked first. He looked at his partner, confusion curdling the air between them; neither of them had expected the two kids to share any blood, let alone a name strong enough to cause trouble. 
The ringtone slashed through their whispering, a sharp digital trill that made his pulse jerk. Reflex had his hand diving into his pocket before the second beat finished. 
The screen lit green. One name glared back–too high up the chain to ignore. Heat pricked his scalp, and he thumbed accept, forcing a steadier breath than he felt. 
The raspy voice, warped by a scrambler, barked, “Why pull in two? I said only the kid wearing the ring!” 
“Things went sideways,” he muttered, keeping his tone flat. “The Verity girl clamped onto the target and wouldn’t let go. Only way out was to bag them both.” 
Silence crackled. Then the distorted voice repeated, softer now, “Verity?” as though tasting the name for hidden poison. 
He pressed on, hoping to settle it. “Right—should we take care of her now?” The question left a bitter film on his tongue. 
A breath hissed over the line. “Lock her up with Dawn first. Wait for my word.” The command landed like iron, final. 
“Understood. You call the shots for that kid,” he said, voice turning slippery. “But the 
Whitethorn girl–her fate’s ours to decide.” 
The voice hardened. “I want the Whitethorn brat crased–how is your concern. But try double- dipping, ransom from her family and payment from me, and I promise we burn together. 
“Relax. Captain Bridger already said Whitethorn money is off–limits to us.” He barely finished before the line went dead. 
***** 
Louisa’s shoulders tensed at the echo of Bryce’s voice spilling from his handset; every word the kidnappers said had reached her too. 
The banquet hall felt distant now, but the ache in her calves reminded her of the two long hours standing under police lights, answering the same blunt questions until they finally let the crowd go. 
Instead of heading home, she had slipped into a cab and circled to Bryce’s townhouse. The spare key, still hidden behind the rain–pipe, slid into her palm like an unwanted invitation. 
She had pictured silence, maybe the hum of his humidifier. She had not expected his voice- cold, transactional–plotting over a child’s fate the moment she crossed the threshold. 
The instant the call clicked off, she rushed forward, breath ragged. “Why tell them to keep Verity there? What orders are you planning to give?” 
Bryce’s eyes narrowed behind his lenses. “What are you doing here? One misstep from you and they’ll trace a straight line between us.” 
She let a dry laugh slip. “And you really think they can’t already? People knew we were together back then. If the Whitethorns ever cared to dig for Verity’s father, don’t you think they’d reach you?” 
The bitter truth lay between them: Julius had never seen Verity as a child, only as a talisman to calm his blinding migraines. 
When all anyone wants is a tool that works, who bothers asking where the tool was forged? 
Bryce’s patience snapped. “Leave. Now. Don’t ruin this for me.” 
“Then have them bring Verity back unharmed,” she countered. “Once Dawn dies, Master Whitethorn will need her again. If she’s hurt, you lose your leverage.” 
“I’ve got it under control,” Bryce said, waving her off. 
The careless flick of his wrist made her stomach dip; he looked exactly as he had years ago– untouched by consequence. 
Back then, when she told him she was pregnant, he’d worn the same mild smile, promised a future–and vanished before the ink on her hopes had dried. 
“Bryce, don’t forget–Verity is your daughter,” she said. “Even a tiger spares its cub.” 
He snorted. “Worried I’ll hurt her? You beat that girl yourself when she was barely three, all so she’d fit the Whitethorn mold. If cruelty’s the measure, Louisa, I learned from you.” 
Color drained from her face, shame cutting deeper than his words. 
Bryce shrugged, almost bored. “Kids can be replaced. What matters is if Julius and Quinn stumble into an accident over this–then the Whitethorn throne might finally sit vacant.” 
She blinked; the lamplight smeared. A chill slid beneath her ribs. So this–this was Bryce’s real aim? 
He never intended to stay a peripheral Whitethorn, she realized; contentment had never sat comfortably on his shoulders. 
He wanted the whole estate, the name, the unquestioned authority–everything that belonged to the main house. 
An icy tightness pinched her throat. “A child… and with whom, Bryce? Whose body are you planning to use for that?” 
Bryce’s smile was all self–satisfaction, the kind that tried to smooth over violence with charm. “With you, of course. We’ll give them a son, and then you’ll stand as Madam Whitethorn–no more bowing to anyone.” 
The lie tasted like rust on her tongue. “Is that so?” No trace of amusement reached her face. 
Her mind jerked back to the operating room–the blinding lights, the smell of antiseptic, the verdict whispered by the surgeon: her womb too scarred to cradle another life.