The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 517

Chapter 517 Blood On The Tiles

Only when two officers rushed in and pried Weston off did the beating stop.

Gasping, Sylas clutched his ribs. “Officer, I want to press charges! He assaulted me!”

Weston wiped a smear of blood from his knuckles. “File away. I’ll be waiting.”

Harlan lifted an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. He would never have guessed a bruise on Laura’s cheek could provoke his uncle into open violence.

He had always pictured Weston as the type who plotted quietly, never swung a fist–especially not inside a police station.

Clearly, Laura meant more to him than Harlan had imagined.

Pulling out his phone, Harlan dialed a familiar number. “Swing by the station and bail me out,” he said, almost cheerfully.

“But isn’t Weston here to bail you out…” Laura began, then fell silent as reality dawned.

Blood still flecked Weston’s knuckles, and his once–refined face was masked in a darkness that made him look less like a barrister, more like some avenging wraith.

He had walked in swaggering, the attorney of legends, yet tonight the tables spun.

Forget Weston bailing out Harla–before the hour ended, Weston himself would be the one waiting behind bars for someone to sign his release.

Moments later, a middle–aged man hurried through the precinct doors, coat flapping like a startled pigeon. Laura recognized him at once–the senior solicitor from Weston’s firm, Patrick Farrow.

“Mr. Farrow, hurry up and start the paperwork for bail,” Harlan said, giving the man’s shoulder a friendly, urgent tap.

Patrick could only answer with a rueful half–smile. Who would have thought a late–night call would drag him out to bail out not one but both of the firm’s powerhouse partners?

Harlan, he could understand–the Ingram heir was forever flirting with trouble. But to find Weston in the holding cell as well left Patrick’s mind looping in disbelief.

More shocking still was Weston’s appearance–shirt spattered in dark, drying streaks, knuckles raw, a crimson memory of whatever had happened before the police arrived.

Patrick had never seen the barrister look like that. Quietly, he mourned the poor soul who had provoked Weston; whoever it was would find Jexburgh’s doors abruptly closed to him from this night on.

Because Weston still had to give his statement, Patrick handled Harlan’s release first, briskly filling out every form the desk sergeant threw at him.

“I’m heading out,” Harlan said, giving Laura’s shoulder a quick pat. “Stay and keep my uncle company, will you?”

“Me? You want me to stay?” Laura stared, caught off guard.

“Uncle Weston stepped in to defend you–surely you’re not planning to vanish now, are you?” he said, one brow arched in challenge.

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6:09 pm B

Chapter 517 Blood On The Tiles

Laura opened her mouth, found no words, and closed it again.

Fine. Leaving first would indeed look heartless.

“Then why not wait till your uncle finishes the statement and we all go together?” she asked.

Can’t be bothered to wait, Harlan said over his shoulder.

He turned away, ready to stride into the night. “Harlan, thank you… truly,” Laura called after him.

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“Don’t mention it. If that scum lays another finger on you, I’ll have him broken,” Harlan replied. He suspected he would not even need to lift a hand; someone would be eager to settle the score on his behalf.

Harlan sliced a side–long glance toward his uncle.

“I’ll stay alert,” Laura promised, a grateful smile curving her lips. “I won’t give him a chance to try anything again.”

She was no longer the cornered schoolgirl she once had been.

Years on the battlefield of real life had taught her sharper ways to protect herself.

Today had blindsided her only because no one expected Sylas Seymour to walk free ahead of schedule.

“All right then. If you ever need backup, you know where to find me,” Harlan said, lifting a hand in lazy farewell before disappearing into the corridor.

Laura remained in the station’s echoing lobby while Weston and Patrick were still inside giving statements.

Meanwhile, Sylas emerged first from another room, face swaddled in blood–spotted bandages; his once rat–like features had swollen into something resembling a beaten hog.

Clutching his throbbing cheeks, Sylas stomped toward her. “Laura Wentworth, don’t think this ends here. You drag two men in, and I’m supposed to be scared? I’m telling you-”

“Let me correct you,” Laura snapped. “That slap you gave me today will not be forgotten. My friends stood up for me, and if they suffer because of you, I will not rest. I sent you to prison once; believe me, I can do it again.”

“Y–You think you’ve got that kind of pull? You say the word, and I’m back in jail?” Sylas‘ expression changed.

“Watch and see whether I do,” Laura shot back.

“You b*tch!” he bellowed, color flooding his cheeks as rage swallowed reason. Without warning, he swung his arm high, ready to bring it down across Laura’s face.

Laura’s eyes flicked to the ceiling–mounted lens inside the station, cool calculation veiled behind the tremor of her lashes. One more blow and his charges double, my bargaining chip grows. She steeled herself, silently welcoming the pain that would tip the

scales.

Chapter 518 Broken Bones