The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 323

Quinn advanced through the uneasy ring of guests, lifted her chin, and addressed Leander Fane. “I can overlook your cousin’s slap,” she said, her voice steady but edged with frost. “All I ask is a moment alone with you. There are things I need to discuss—privately.”

A flicker of puzzlement crossed Leander’s dark eyes. “Have we met before, Ms. Bridger?” he asked, genuinely searching her face for a memory that refused to surface.

Quinn’s lashes trembled. “I’m... not sure.”

She truly did not know whether the man standing before her was the brother who had vanished years ago or an imposter wearing his face, and the doubt gnawed at her more viciously than any slap. Escalating the scene in front of the entire ballroom would only tighten the noose around everyone’s pride, so a quiet conversation seemed the cheapest price to pay for the answers she craved.

With a courteous nod, Leander simply said, “Very well.”

Quinn gestured toward a narrow side balcony draped in ivy and drenched in moonlight. “Please, Mr. Fane, could we speak over there? It’s quieter.”

Leander inclined his head, but before he could take a step, Serena clutched his hand, her manicured nails pressing crescents into his skin. “Leander, are you really going to speak to her alone?” Serena’s voice cracked with barely disguised panic.

Leander covered her restless fingers with his free hand, warmth against worry. “I’ll only be a minute, Serena. Nothing will happen to me.”

Watching Leander’s tenderness toward Serena stabbed Quinn with a memory so sharp her eyes burned.

When she was reckless and young, Rowan had always knelt beside her scraped knees, whispering, “Don’t fret. Even if the sky falls, I’ll hold it up for you.”

Leander turned back to Quinn after comforting Serena. “All right, Ms. Bridger—shall we?”

Quinn forced a swift blink, locking the tears behind her lashes. She and Leander walked through the parted crowd, his broad shoulders carving a silent path toward the balcony’s silver glow.

Serena’s glare bored holes into Quinn’s retreating silhouette. She spun toward Julius and hissed, “Isn’t that woman your girlfriend? You’re just letting her flirt with another man? I never guessed you were so... accommodating, Mr. Whitethorn.”

Julius’ eyes narrowed to slits of cold sapphire. “Be grateful Quinn pulled me back moments ago. Cousin or not, I’d have repaid that slap, even if the entire Fane family stood behind you.”

Serena swallowed her outrage, cheeks blotched with humiliation, unable to fathom what charm Quinn possessed.

Her mind snagged on the memory of the tall man who had called Quinn “Quinnie.” There was something hauntingly familiar about him, as though his face had drifted through her dreams before.

Quinn and Leander stepped onto the side balcony. The door clicked behind them, sealing off the pulse of music and laughter.

The balcony was secluded, shadows pooling in the corners while moonlight spilled like milk across the stone tiles, a stark counterpoint to the glittering chaos inside.

From behind her, Leander’s voice cut through the hush. “All right, Ms. Bridger. Say what you came to say.”

Is he really not Rowan?

Leander’s brow creased, a flicker of concern sneaking through his reserve when he sensed Quinn’s emotions. “What’s wrong?”

Quinn drew a ragged breath, the sound catching like torn silk. “I—I was thinking about my brother. He always protected me. If anyone dared hurt me, he fought for me. But when he needed protection, I failed him.”

She stared at Leander’s features, and overlaying them was the memory from the grainy video—her brother, frail, being yanked away and dumped onto a merciless curb. The picture split her composure wide open, and the tears finally rushed out.

Plip. Plip.

Each teardrop struck the marble floor like tiny beads snapping from a broken string, scattering light across the polished stone.

Leander froze, blindsided by the sudden storm of tears. He slipped a crisp white handkerchief from his inner pocket and held it out to her. “Don’t cry.”

She stared at the offered linen, fingers unmoving, as if the gesture itself had welded her to the moment. Instead of easing, the tears ran harder, a silent rain driven by memory.

For an instant, she thought she saw Rowan kneeling to wipe her cheeks, murmuring comfort only she could hear.

There are too many echoes of Rowan in this man. Is he really a stranger?