The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 519

Military 519

never said to the countered, meeting his gare “But what I want is pasta from a street stall. Can you handle that?”

Men of his pedigree frequented gleaming restaurants with white tablecloths Street food at midnight was hardly their usual terrate

“Give me the address, Weston replied. “If you can’t remember, the navigation system will find it.”

Chught off guard by his readiness, Laura rattled off a location–a roadside stand she had adored during university, famous for sening night owls until the small hours.

She had not been back in years. For all she knew, the stall might have disappeared into memory.

A flicker of recognition crossed Weston’s eyes, and Laura suddenly recalled that they had attended the same university, though in

different departments.

The campus lay only twenty minutes away, and at this late hour, the roads were mercifully clear. Weston eased the car forward, the city lights sliding past in hushed procession.

When they reached the familiar gates, Laura spotted the pasta cart still standing sentinel. The owner’s wife looked older now, lines etched deeper by passing years, yet the glowing wok and warm aromas remained unchanged.

Memories fluttered back–nights when a cheap, generous bowl of noodles had filled her stomach and brightened long study hours.

“This is the place?” Weston asked, nodding toward the modest setup just outside the gate.

“Yes,” she replied, unfastening her seat belt. “It’s nothing fancy. Are you sure, Mr. Windore?”

“Why not?” Weston said, as if the question itself were unnecessary.

They climbed out, the cool night air carrying the sizzling scent of sauce as they approached the cart.

“Two plates of pasta?” the lady called, greeting them with the warmth of someone who had seen countless students grow into

adults.

“Two plates of pasta. And, two bottles of cola to chase the heat,” Laura called, her voice bright yet faintly raspy from the evening air that smelled of exhaust, soy sauce, and charcoal smoke.

“Comin‘ right up,” the stall owner replied. Then she angled her head, studying Laura’s face beneath the yellow string lights. “You’ve eaten at my cart before, haven’t you? Thought you looked familiar.”

Laura’s smile softened with a nostalgia that pinched at the heart. “Back when I was in school, I practically lived on your after dark. They were my favorite kind of cheap salvation.”

The woman laughed, a warm sputter over the hiss of oil meeting metal. “So you’re an old customer. No wonder.”

noodles

Laura drifted toward an empty plastic table and sank onto the rickety stool opposite Weston. Neon from the nearby convenience store rippled across the puddles, throwing fractured pink light over the pair of them.

The moment they sat, Weston leaned in, elbows on the table, suit jacket straining across broad shoulders. “You used to eat here all the time? Why don’t I know?”

Laura’s laugh was small, almost dismissive. “We hadn’t been dating long, remember? You never cared about the minutiae of my

1/2

6:09 pm G

Chapter 519 Midnight Cravings

days, Weston. We met a few times a week, nothing clingy. Of course, you didn’t know.”

+10 Free Coins

Weston’s hand tightened around the edge of the flimsy table. The plastic dipped under his grip. He could not deny it. Back then, he had treated her like a pleasant diversion, something bright yet temporary.

Laura tugged at a loose thread on her sleeve, eyes glinting with wry amusement. “I was vain, too. You were the wealthy golden boy, always taking me to high–end places with friends who flashed cards like confetti. I didn’t want you seeing me wolfing down street food. So each time you ushered me into some polished restaurant, I nibbled like a bird. Then I came back here, paid pocket change, and filled my stomach properly.”

Weston’s brow furrowed; the truth landed heavy, an undiscovered bruise touched for the first time.

“I admire that girl I used to be,” Laura murmured, gaze drifting to the sizzling wok. “Charging after you with nothing but reckless hope. Looking back, we were never really suited.”

“Laura, words like that don’t belong on your tongue,” Weston said, voice dropping into a gravelly insistence.

She gave a light, almost teasing shrug. “Think I’m belittling myself? Hardly. My grades were solid–near the top of the class–and I was smart enough to monetize that. Tutors earn pocket money, you know.”

After graduation, she had ridden the crest of drone tech and artificial intelligence, turning a tiny outfit into an expanding enterprise -proof that hunger could indeed become fuel.

“Still,” she continued, fingers now tracing circles in the condensation on her Coke, “our social worlds are galaxies apart. Even now, with my own money and my own name, I don’t exactly blend into your circles—and back then I never stood a chance.”

That mismatch, once invisible to her star–struck eyes, now replayed in merciless clarity: the way she had bowed, smiled, and molded herself into whatever shape Weston’s friends found amusing–no wonder they saw a clown.

22