The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 510

510 Am I Old

So she thinks I’m old?

Without warning, Weston dipped his head and claimed her mouth, the abruptness stealing the breath from her lungs.

“Mmm… You… Let me go…”

Her protest dissolved when he deepened the kiss, a fierce declaration of possession. His body pressed closer, heat and strength sealing every frantic inch of space between them.

One hand slid beneath her blouse, fingertips skating over bare skin in lazy, knowing strokes. He mapped the places he remembered that made her tremble, coaxing desire out of her with practiced certainty. The air inside the car thickened, heavy with perfume, leather, and a gathering storm of need.

No. This has to stop right now! If we don’t, we’ll end up doing things in the back seat that I can’t afford to want. We’re only bound by a contract. I cannot fall for him again. I absolutely refuse to repeat my past

mistakes.

Smack!

The crack of her palm echoed off the tinted windows, snapping his head to the side.

“Weston Windore, we’re together by contract and nothing more. You have no right to touch me like that!” Panting, Laura glared at him.

He turned his head back, staring at her. “Then who does? The baby–faced model?”

“Yes. If I truly cared for him, he would have that right. I agreed to one year of contractual dating–nothing else. If you’re craving a woman, find someone else. I’m not offering,” she snapped, wiping her mouth.

She yanked the door handle, swung out into the night, and let the cold air slice between them like a drawn blade.

This could not continue. Weston wore manners like a tailored suit, yet beneath the fabric beat the unyielding will of a man accustomed to command.

She had first accepted this absurd arrangement because he threatened her with a compromising video. Later, telling herself it was easier to enjoy the moment than fight it, she had drifted closer and closer to him. Never again, she vowed, would she tumble back into that

trap.

1/3

Instead of resisting back then, she had decided to surrender and enjoy it, telling herself it was nothing more than a year–long arrangement with a lover who came free of charge.

Yet the situation had begun to spiral beyond her grip, creeping into her job, her friendships, and every corner of her carefully tended life. Most disturbing of all, he now watched her with an intensity that made her wonder whether the man truly liked her–perhaps even loved her- and whether their staged romance was about to become frighteningly real.

How absurd.

When they dated for real years ago, he had never managed a single genuine spark of feeling. So how could feelings suddenly bloom in a relationship that was fake from the start? Strip away the pretty words, and it was nothing but the possessiveness of someone accustomed to ruling from above.

Falling out with Weston today might invite his retaliation, but she would not let herself drown any deeper. The illusion ends here.

Quinn paused on the threshold of Fane Manor’s living room. Three men lay draped around the coffee table, each heavy–lidded and glossy–eyed, breathing whisky fumes into the chandelier-lit air.

Julius sagged over the armrest, Everett slouched like a toppled statue on the couch, and Rowan sprawled somewhere between them, an empty glass dangling from his fingers.

“Listen here, boy… If you ever even think about hurting my Quinn, I’ll finish you myself. I’m an old man, and time already stole everything worth fearing.” Everett continued forcing wine down Julius‘ throat, threatening him.

“I’ll never… hurt Quinn… If it comes to that, Uncle Everett, you won’t need to lift a hand. I’ll take myself out first…” Julius slurred, words wobbling on a breath thick with liquor.

Quinn had rarely seen Julius this far gone. The table before him looked like a battlefield–tall bottles of whisky, gin, and vodka standing like spent shells, every label boasting a proof that could fell a horse.

“Is it true that… first thing after you land back home, you and Julius are heading straight to city hall to register?” Rowan rose on unsteady legs, a hiccup clipping the end of his question as he stumbled toward his sister.

She met her brother’s bleary gaze and gave a single, steady nod.

“I’m sorry… I can’t fly back with you,” Rowan murmured. Of the trio, he had drunk the least

and was now the clearest voice in the room.

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