The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 512

r 512 I Will Be A Good Father

He nuzzled the tip of his nose against hers, the gesture playful and helpless all at once, like an oversized dog begging for comfort.

Moist, phoenix–shaped eyes shimmered beneath the dim lamp, making him look heartbreakingly vulnerable–an elegant man stripped down to raw need. The sight snapped every last thread of her resistance, compelling her to say “yes” to all his requests. Charm, she realized, could be a weapon as devastating as any blade.

“How could I ever stop loving you?” she breathed, the words sinking into the hush between them. “Even with a child in our arms, my heart will still belong to you.”

Quinn kissed his forehead, her lips lingering in a silent hush of reassurance. “Be good now. Let me help you into your pajamas.”

He obeyed at once, releasing her hand and sitting perfectly still, the picture of trust.

She eased soft cotton over his shoulders, smoothing the fabric down his arms with a tenderness usually reserved for newborns.

“There,” she murmured at last. “Time to sleep.”

Instead, he pulled her down beside him, wrapping his arms around her waist as they sank onto the mattress. With his face tucked into the curve of her neck, he spoke in a fading murmur. “I’ll be a good father. I won’t let our child… become what I was.”

His voice dwindled, each breath slower than the last until the room filled with steady, even breathing.

Is he asleep already?

Quinn brushed the hair from his forehead, fingertips light as feathers. “I believe you,” she whispered. “You’ll be a wonderful father. You and your father were never the same.”

Night stretched on–long, silent, patient. And she would be there, beside him, through every night still to come.

Morning brought a pale gold sky and the dull roar of jet engines. Quinn and Julius boarded the homebound flight, joined by Gavin, whose white coat had been traded for a charcoal–gray blazer.

At the gate, Gavin leaned close, lowering his voice like a conspirator. “Seems you’re the only person on this planet who can keep Julius in line.”

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He glanced toward the couple–Julius calmer now than he had been in months, the anxiety that once clung to him all but gone–and Gavin silently credited Quinn for the

transformation.

“By the way.” Quinn asked, adjusting the strap of her carry–on, “how’s that investigation you promised to run?”

She was referring to Julius‘ fear that mental illness ran through his mother’s bloodline, a fear that had haunted their quietest hours.

Gavin nodded. “He’s digging too, but it’s been decades. After his mother died, his father practically destroyed her family. Most relatives fled overseas. Tracing medical records will take time.” He flicked his eyes to her still–flat stomach. “If the baby does inherit something… what then?”

“I’m this child’s mother,” Quinn replied, calm and unwavering. “Even if the odds are against us, I’ll carry the baby to term. Whatever comes, my child and I will face it together.”

Gavin’s brows lifted, a flash of admiration softening his features.

Once he’d doubted her–now he saw her strength as the rope that could haul Julius out of any abyss.

“Since you’ve chosen to stay with him,” Gavin said, tone half–teasing, half solemn, “forget about divorce. In the Whitethorn family, that word doesn’t exist.”

Quinn paused, startled. The queue parted, and the scanner’s dull chime summoned her forward. The cold railings, the fluorescent wash of airport lights, everything funneled her toward that narrow arch of security like a spotlight in a darkened stage.

Quinn collected her bag, the conveyor’s rubber belt sighing behind her, and stepped back into the tide of travelers. Julius closed the distance in two long strides, his tailored coat still carrying the chill of the terminal. “What were you and Gavin talking about a minute ago?” he asked, voice low yet edged with something steely.

Quinn tilted her head, searching his eyes. “He said there’s no divorce in the Whitethorn family. Is that true?” Curiosity brightened her tone, though a faint, reflexive unease fluttered at the edge of her heart.

Julius nodded once, as though stating the time of day. “It’s true. In our house marriages end only when death arrives. When you and I marry, there will be no divorce, only forever.”

Quinn’s lashes trembled, a glimmer passing through her eyes. So in the Whitethorn world, the only exit is a coffin? Does that fierce devotion mean obsession–if love curdles, will they still chain the other person inside the marriage with no key in sight? Just like Julius‘ parents, trapped in vows that once

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sounded like poetry but ended up in iron bars.

Julius’s tone shifted, grave enough to still the bustle around them. “Knowing all that, Quinn, do you still want to marry me?”

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