The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 520

Weston’s frown deepened, shadowing his sharp features. Something in Laura’s measured detachment scraped against him, as though she were drawing a clean white line none of his wealth or eloquence could cross.

“Tell me,” he said, voice clipped, “are you reneging on our arrangement? The year isn’t anywhere close to over.”

“I’ll honor it,” Laura said, chin lifting, “so long as you respect me and my friends–no insults, no liberties taken without consent. Fail that, and the deal dies. And if you crave revenge, take it however you please.”

“Revenge?” His eyes darkened, almost black. “Is that what you think drives me?”

“Isn’t it?” She countered, smile edged with frost. “I dumped you back then. This year–long pact–part decoy for your admirers, part experiment to see if I’ll fall for you again. If I do, you break my heart in return. Perfect symmetry.”

The more she rolled the theory over, the more plausible it felt. A man like Weston had no shortage of women willing to fend off unwanted attention for him; picking her had to be personal.

He let out a low, humorless laugh. “Laura, if revenge were my goal, you wouldn’t be sitting here comfortably across from me.”

“Maybe you just prefer poetic justice,” she said softly. The cola fizzed between them like distant static.

His temper flared, then cooled into a sardonic smile. “Fine. Assume it’s revenge. Tell me, Laura, could you love me again? Because vengeance means nothing unless I’ve first made you care.”

Laura’s lips parted, but not a single syllable slipped out. The question lodged in her throat, leaving her frozen in place, as though someone had reached inside and switched off the light to her voice.

Weston tilted his head, voice cutting like glass. “To gamble with another person’s feelings just to scratch some petty itch for revenge? I’d never waste my time on something that small.”

Laura steadied her breath, meeting his eyes even though her stomach still twisted. “Then why did you insist I play the role of your girlfriend? Why drag me into this performance at all?”

Weston’s answer stalled on the threshold of his tongue. The ambient hum of the diner pressed in, and for a heartbeat, all she could hear was the muted rattle of utensils.

He had asked himself that same question countless nights, staring at ceilings in cities that no longer felt like home.

It was a compulsion, a gnawing need to understand why the woman he once deemed dispensable now haunted every empty mile between sunrise and sleep.

He wanted her gaze–those dark, defiant eyes–to lock on him the way they used to, before cynicism dulled their shine.

With each passing day, that desire sharpened, gaining definition like a photograph finally sliding into focus in the dim glow of a

darkroom.

Weston inhaled, words just beginning to assemble. “What I want is-”

The owner appeared, arms balancing two steaming plates of pasta and a sweating glass bottle of cola. The savory scent rolled over the table, scattering the tension like leaves in a sudden gust.

Weston tore open a packet of disposable forks, the thin plastic snapping under his thumbs. He offered one to Laura with a quiet,

1/2

Chapter 520 Old Debts.

+10 Free Coins

almost absentminded courtesy.

Surprise flickered across Laura’s face, fleeting yet genuine. She had never pictured the courtroom predator extending so humble a gesture.

The moment the pasta landed, a fragrant cloud rose, punching straight to her empty stomach.

Foregoing pretense, Laura accepted the fork and dove in, lifting tangled ribbons to her mouth in greedy, scalding mouthfuls.

Weston watched her eat, eyes narrowing, steam from the plate curling between them. “Aren’t you going to press me about why I insisted on this contractual romance?”

Laura chewed, swallowed, and spoke without looking up. “Say whatever you like. The reasons don’t matter much. If you meet the conditions I laid out, I’ll honor the contract. If you don’t, we dissolve it. Simple.”

Weston’s lashes lowered to a steely half–mast, a chill spilling from him like night air through an opened window. “Is it because of that Harvey guy that you’re so eager to break our deal?”

Laura nearly choked. She set the fork down with a soft clack. “Hey, this is between you and me. Leave my friend out of it.”

Weston leaned back, voice dropping to a predatory quiet. “Friend? What kind of friend is he? Someone you met in a nightclub? Or have the two of you already-”

Heat flared in Laura’s cheeks. “Harvey and I are nothing like whatever filth is running through your head. Don’t project your sordid imagination onto us.”

Unmoved, Weston’s stare bore into her. “If it isn’t what I’m thinking, then tell me–what exactly are you two?”

Laura straightened, voice clear and firm. “When I was at my lowest, he was the only person willing to pull me back from the edge. For that, I will be grateful for the rest of my life.”

Back then, after Sylas‘ assault, Laura had resolved to drag him into court.

Her father and stepmother begged her to drop it, her father even threatening to cut her off entirely.

When she refused, they threw her out; the days that followed were the bleakest she had ever known.

Harvey, the only eyewitness, was bullied and bribed in turn by her family, yet he still walked into that courtroom and testified, sending Sylas behind bars.

In those suffocating months, Harvey had been a sliver of dawn breaking through her personal night. No debt weighs heavier than

that.

Laura’s gaze locked on Weston’s, unwavering. “Weston, you can come after me all you like, but you will not lay a finger on Harvey.”

“You really do care about him, don’t you?” Weston forced the accusation through clenched teeth, each syllable fighting its way past

iron bars.

“Yes. I care about him.” Her reply came without the slightest tremor, as though the fact were as obvious as daylight.