The Divorced Military Queen Awakens (by Sadie Baxter) novel Chapter 532

“Trent, whether or not I once helped you, whether or not Sidonie misled you, we are bound to be divorced. Because you love only yourself. Neither I nor Sidonie has ever been truly loved by you.”

“That’s not true. I do love you. Do you honestly believe Julius Whitethorn would marry you? You were once my wife. A man like him won’t marry a woman who’s already been wed. But if you remarried me-”

“Bullsh’t!” Laura burst out. “Trent, open those eyes. Quinn’s wearing a wedding ring. Do you think every man is as petty as you?”

A… wedding ring?

A violent shudder ran through Trent. His gaze dropped to Quinn’s hand. On her right ring finger blazed a diamond so enormous it seemed to drag every shred of light toward itself.

“That ring…”

“Quinn and I are married now.” Julius stepped forward, threading his fingers through hers. “Whether or not she’s been married before, she’s the only woman I have ever wanted. As for your so–called remarriage–forget it. Never going to happen.”

“You’re married?” Trent was shocked.

Even Lawrence was dumbstruck.

Mr. Whitethorn–married? The thought felt impossible.

Not a single news outlet had breathed a hint.

If this story broke, every corner of Jexburgh’s elite circles would tremble.

More explosive still: Julius‘ new bride was Trent’s former wife.

“Yes, married.” Quinn lifted their joined hands high, letting both rings blaze beneath the lights.

“Impossible. If Julius had married you, the press would have been all over it!” Trent refused to believe it.

“We picked up the license today. The public announcement is coming soon. The ceremony will follow in due course,” Quinn said calmly.

The hulking diamond stabbed Trent’s eyes, each facet a mirror showing him everything he had thrown away.

“Quinn, is it because Julius can drown you in diamonds and money that you chose him? I thought you were different, but you’re just another woman who despises poverty and worships wealth…”

Crack!

Quinn’s hand lashed out, the slap whipping Trent’s head sideways before he could blink.

“So I was supposed to treasure the two–hundred–coin flea–market ring you gave me while you showered Sidonie with jewels worth millions? I chose Julius because whatever he has, he’s willing to give me. You never were.”

Trent stood frozen on the polished marble floor. The roar of conversation, clinking glasses, and distant jazz dissolved around him, leaving only a hollow ringing in his ears. For one breathless heartbeat, he couldn’t even blink.

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“Let’s get back to the lounge. I’m starving.” She said it lightly, but the little twist of her lips made the request sound like a playful

command.

Julius smiled. “Of course.” He laced his fingers through Quinn’s and steered her toward the corridor of velvet carpeting and discreet wall sconces.

Behind them, Laura and Harlan fell into step, their polished shoes clicking in measured echo, as though sealing the moment with a silent flourish.

Harlan paused at the threshold, casting Trent a look as cold as a blade drawn across ice. He shifted his gaze to Lawrence. “Be grateful you never planned to pour money into Grafton Technologies. Otherwise, the Lowe name would sink right alongside his.”

A tremor of sweat raced down Lawrence’s spine. Harlan’s remark was a verdict–Trent was finished, and anyone daring to save him. would be marked as Harlan’s enemy.

Only after Quinn’s party disappeared did Lawrence let contempt bleed into his eyes. “So that’s how you treat an ex–wife, Trent. No wonder Grafton Technologies is in ruins. Some men just can’t shoulder the weight of fortune.”

Trent’s shoulders jerked, the words striking him harder than any fist ever could.

Lawrence gave a patronizing pat to Trent’s blazer. “Be smart and stay away from me. I have no intention of becoming Mr. Whitethorn’s or Mr. Ingram’s next target.”

With a flick of his wrist, two burly security guards appeared, hooked Trent beneath the arms, and hauled him through the gilded

doors.

Dumped on the sidewalk, Trent stared at the thick folder of proposals he had carried in like a ticket to salvation. Now the pages fluttered in the night wind, nothing more than discarded flyers.

Unable to handle that kind of fortune? Yes, once I was rich–so rich I believed that in a few years I would leap classes, join the elite, buy dreams too audacious to speak aloud. Now I have nothing. The company is drowning in debt, bankruptcy circling like vultures, and I am the rat everyone enjoys chasing with a broom. So it’s true. Without Quinn Bridger, I am nobody.

Back in the VIP lounge, Quinn sampled the dishes with unhurried grace. The platter that had triggered her earlier nausea had already vanished, as though it never existed.

Mid–meal, Harlan’s phone buzzed, its vibration rattling the crystal beside