The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 315

Quinn's heart jerked to a stop. The dice she had been toying with slipped between her fingers as she whipped toward the entrance. Through the drifting cigarette haze marched Julius, a phalanx of black-suited bodyguards fanning out behind him until they formed an iron wall opposite the casino's security detail.

The guard captain, a square-jawed man with a wire in his ear, clearly knew power when he saw it and hurried forward, shoulders stiff yet respectful. “Are they your friends?” he asked, voice pitched low in wary deference.

“She is,” Julius said, pointing a gloved finger at Quinn. “He is not.” His hand drifted to Harlan without warmth. “But both of them leave with me tonight.”

“Mr. Whitethorn, they caused a disturbance—broke house rules,” the captain protested, though sweat already glimmered at his hairline. “If we let you take them without consequence, how are we to enforce the rules in the future?”

Julius did not bother arguing. He slid a sleek phone from his breast pocket, thumbed a single contact, and spoke with the cold brevity of a man who owned the minutes of others. “It's Julius Whitethorn. I'm removing two guests from your floor. I can raise your profit share by another zero point three.”

By the time Julius ended the call, the captain's own earpiece crackled. Whatever orders poured through made his spine snap even straighter.

He waved his team back at once, then plastered on a conciliatory grin. “Mr. Whitethorn, we'll clear the floor for you. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

And just like that, a confrontation that had been coiling for blood collapsed into polite silence, vanishing as though violence had only been a rumor.

The moment the casino staff retreated, Quinn tore away from the gaming tables, sprinting past bewildered patrons until she burst through the revolving doors and into the humid night. She scanned the glittering sweep of taxi lights and limousines, but her brother's silhouette was nowhere to be found.

Am I really going to miss him again—so close I could feel him, yet never close enough to grasp?

Her gaze snapped upward to the black bulb of a surveillance camera perched above the awning, red light blinking like a tiny heartbeat.

Of course—the footage could lead her straight to him. A single replay would reveal the license plate of the car that had spirited the look-alike away, perhaps even his face inside the gaming hall.

“Quinnie!” Harlan called, darting after her. “Were you looking for Rowan?”

“Yes,” she answered, breath still ragged. “I can't find him out here. The only option is to ask the casino for their surveillance.”

If they refused, she would simply breach their system herself—one more wall to climb, and walls had never stopped Quinn.

“Give me a few days,” Harlan promised, chest rising with restless energy. “I'll sort it out.”

Pulling favors in Doria was trickier for both the Ingram and Windore clans; their real power lay far across the sea. He would need a neutral fixer, someone who could negotiate for the tapes without drawing fire.

“If you want casino footage, let me handle it,” Julius said, voice drifting over them like cool smoke. “I can have the files in your hands tonight.”

Quinn turned, eyes widening at the offer that had materialized out of thin air.

Of course—Whitethorn holdings dotted every corner of Doria. The man in front of her was practically family with the casino's owners.

“Then you'll need one of your men to drive mine,” Harlan said, flipping the key fob into the air. The metal winked once before landing in a Whitethorn guard's palm. Harlan rattled off the license plate as if daring anyone to forget it.

Without pause, he hooked Quinn by the elbow, guiding her to the front passenger seat of Julius's car. Settling into the back, he shot Julius a half-smirk, half-challenge. “Julius, aren't you getting in?”

Two men—two immovable wills—faced each other in the sliver of space between door and curb, tension crackling like a live wire.

After a heartbeat that felt a minute long, Julius lowered his gaze, slid into the rear seat, and let the leather swallow him whole.

Harlan followed, the door thunking shut with a note of defiance.

A suffocating hush pooled inside the cabin, every breath weighted by unspoken rivalry. In the front, Quinn stared ahead, yet her mind replayed the elevator lobby—where she'd glimpsed a man who looked heartbreakingly like Rowan.

Did Rowan lose his memory? Or is some unspeakable reason forcing him to pretend he doesn't know me? When I reached the elevator, he'd looked straight at me—no flicker of recognition, only the polite blankness reserved for strangers. A chill is crawling up my spine, and I can't shake it.

Harlan's voice sliced through the silence. “Mr. Whitethorn, that extra zero-point-three percent you just promised the casino—I'll pay it. After all, Quinnie and I caused the mess.”

Julius let out a soft, dismissive laugh. “You will? Suppose that zero-point-three equals sixty million—are you still eager to open your wallet?”