The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 516

Chapter 516 Harlan To The Rescue

Sylas spat blood onto the pavement, rage blazing in his swollen eyes. “D’mn it! Who the hell are you?”

Harlan kept a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, its ember glowing like a live fuse as he drove his boot once more into Sylas‘ ribs. “You think throwing the first punch makes you righteous? Touch my friend again, and I’ll break more than your pride!”

Laura stared, wide–eyed, unable to reconcile the scene unfolding before her.

She had always regarded Harlan as a friend, but she was also aware that his occasional conversations with her existed only because of Quinn.

Without that slender thread to Quinn, Harlan would have remained well beyond her reach.

Yet here he was, putting his own body between hers and danger, announcing to the world that she was his friend.

A warmth unfurled inside her chest, gentle and unexpected.

Sylas wiped a trickle of blood off his lip, sneering with bruised bravado. “So you’re her newest toy, huh? I rot in a cell for years, and you can’t even wait.”

A sharp crack split the night, crisp as broken ice.

Harlan yanked Sylas up by the collar and delivered slap after slap until the man’s cheeks ballooned crimson.

Barely coherent through numbed flesh, Sylas blubbered threats. “I… I’ll call the police! I won’t let either of you off!”

Thirty minutes later, the three of them–Laura, Harlan, and a battered Sylas–were escorted into the police station

They now sat in separate interview rooms, officers clacking away at the official record.

From behind the glass, Sylas bellowed, face puffed like rising dough. “Look what they did to me! I want a medical exam, I’m pressing charges!”

The swelling distorted his vowels, turning the outburst almost comical.

“Sure, go ahead!” Laura yelled at Sylas, then leaned toward Harlan, voice low but steady. “Did you call your attorney yet? When will they get here?”

“I already did. He should arrive any minute.”

Relief loosened the knot between her shoulders.

She could not bear the thought of dragging Harlan into deeper trouble for her sake.

Given his status, Harlan’s attorney had to be among the best in Jexburgh; Sylas would gain nothing.

But a quarter hour later, when the lawyer finally strode through the precinct doors, Laura’s confidence faltered into sheer

embarrassment.

Yes, he was renowned. Too renowned, in fact–the sort of name that made veteran judges sit up straighter.

Weston, the barrister with an undefeated record across Jexburgh, had come in person.

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He usually battled in the high–stakes arenas of finance and mergers. That did not mean he lacked teeth elsewhere; his very

presence rewrote the odds.

Laura tugged Harlan’s sleeve, voice barely above a whisper. “Harlan, you brought Weston Windore? Isn’t that… overkill?”

Before Harlan could answer, Weston’s brows knitted; he closed the distance in one swift stride, pinched Laura’s chin, and tilted her face toward the sterile ceiling lights.

“What happened to your face? Who laid a hand on you?”

“This really isn’t any of your business,” Laura murmured, her cheeks flushing as she tried to turn her face away from him.

Just two days earlier, she and Weston had stormed off in opposite directions, their last conversation ending in wounded silence. Yet his fingers clamped around her wrist with iron insistence, a hold so tight she could not pry herself free.

Tell me who hit you, Weston said, his voice low enough to scrape bone. “Don’t force me to ask a third time.”

Harlan jerked his chin toward Sylas, who was still yelling at the front desk. “See that piece of trash? He walked in with us, and I already gave him one beating.”

Weston’s gaze shifted, pinning Sylas with a stare colder than the station’s tiled floor.

Sylas spun, spotting Weston. “What, another guy?” he scoffed, voice thick with mockery. “Laura, you two–timing cheat–while I was locked up, how many men did you crawl to? Your so–called success just proves how many beds you climbed.”

Weston’s expression turned to stone. He lifted one hand, unfastening the cuff button with clinical calm. Then, with the same patience, he slipped off his watch and began walking toward Sylas, each step deliberate as a countdown.

“So the bruise on her face,” Weston asked, voice flat as asphalt, “that was your handiwork?”

“D*mn right,” Sylas spat, wiping blood from a split lip that hadn’t even come from Weston yet. “She lured me in, then sued me, played everyone. She’ll use you, too–slept with a witness just to pin charges on me. She’d go with anyone…”

A sharp report split the air–bone against bone. Sylas‘ rant cut off as Weston’s first punch drove him to the linoleum.

“Ouch! Help!” Sylas screamed.

The sounds kept coming, fists thudding into flesh with sickening clarity that echoed off concrete walls. Even listening made Laura flinch; each impact seemed to land on her own nerves. She stared, wide–eyed, at the transformation. The man, usually polished and bookish, had become a suited berserker, raining blows on the one man she hated most.