The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 340

Julius surged forward, fist knotting in the front of Harlan's jacket, yanking him close until their breaths collided. “Why did she end up in a bullet's path? Were you not the one charged with keeping her safe?”

“Yes. I... I failed to protect her.”

“Why?” Julius' voice cracked, equal parts fury and desperation.

“I never thought she would sprint forward to shield Leander—no, I should have anticipated it. Leander is Rowan, her brother. Of course, she'd throw herself between him and a gun.”

Had I been sharper, moved a fraction sooner, Quinn might never have felt that slug tear through her.

Julius' grip slackened. His hand slipped away, leaving faint creases in Harlan's uniform.

Yes—Leander was Rowan, the brother Quinn treasured above all.

The realization settled, heavy and merciless: the one who truly deserved blame was himself.

If he had hauled Rowan out of danger earlier, none of this would be unfolding now. Or, if, at the lab, he had choked down that flare of jealousy and planted himself next to her, they would have arrived at the scene together. Then, when danger came, he could have covered her instead of watching her being carried away, slick with her own blood.

He dropped his gaze to the sandalwood bracelet circling his wrist, the jade beads catching the fluorescent glare.

“May every year bring you peace” was the blessing Quinn wrote when gifting him the bracelet. But if she wasn't safe, he wouldn't find peace.

Leander swallowed the pills Serena had pressed into his palm, and at last the iron vise around his temples loosened.

Serena tipped the empty bottle aside and snapped, “I'm flying home this instant. Doria is far too dangerous!”

“Immediately?” Leander echoed, his voice strained by surprise. The image of Quinn, pale and half-conscious on that gurney, flashed before him. He still needed to see her, to learn how deep the bullet had cut.

He yearned to ask how he might ever repay her.

He had warned himself repeatedly that, brother or not, he would never claim the connection.

For now, he had to remain inside the Fane household; only there could he marshal the power to save Lena. Yet shame and regret pooled behind his ribs, thick and sour, mingling with an emotion he could not name.

“Yes, this minute,” Serena insisted, eyes flashing. “I refuse to stay here another second. Leander, you're coming with me on the first plane home.”

She had not forgotten the way Quinn, after taking that bullet, declared with absolute certainty that Leander was her brother. The memory sent a ripple of panic through Serena's carefully constructed calm.

If Leander truly belonged to the Bridger bloodline and chose to embrace it, every scheme she had woven inside the Fane family would unravel.

When Quinn's lashes fluttered open, a sterile white ceiling pressed into her vision. Where am I? A hospital room?

Harlan's shoulders stayed squared as he spoke, his voice as calm as a man reading coordinates off a map. “He's fine. When I got you out, the police rolled in right behind us. Every last thug who laid a hand on Serena is now in cuffs. As for the shots we fired and the injuries we caused, I already went to the police station and gave a full statement. Everything was by the book, so nothing is coming back on us.”

Quinn finally let her lungs deflate, shoulders dipping as though she had been carrying a boulder that suddenly rolled away.

Julius slammed his thumb against the bedside call button. The tiny red bulb flared, casting a pulse of warning light over the white sheets and the tangled tubing at Quinn's wrist. “You're finally awake. Let's have the doctor and a nurse come in and make sure everything inside you is still where it belongs.”

Soft-soled shoes scuffed down the corridor; a doctor and two nurses swept into the room moments later, clipboard tops flipping before they even reached the bed.

Quinn blinked at them, groggy, then caught the date on the wall clock and realized an entire day had slipped away while she slept.

After a series of quiet prods and murmured measurements, the doctor declared the surgery a clear success. Even so, he warned that only when the wound closed could they know whether her shoulder would ever be the same.

“I want to see my brother. Is he still at the hotel?” Quinn's words tumbled out in a rush, thin and breathless.

Serena's kidnapping had stolen the chance for her to hand over the DNA report and tell the man she had just found that he was really Rowan—her own flesh-and-blood brother.

She had pictured bringing him home, guiding him to their parents' headstone, and whispering to the gray marble that their lost son had at last been found.

Harlan shifted uneasily beside the window. “Your brother...” He let the words hang, as though unsure they would survive the air between them.