Chapter 342 Restless Hearts
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She worries <i>about </i><i>Rowan</i><i>. </i><i>She </i>worries <i>about </i><i>Han</i><i>. </i><i>Where </i><i>does </i><i>that </i><i>leave </i><i>me</i>? <i>Does </i><i>she </i><i>ever spare </i>a <i>thought </i><i>for </i><i>the </i><i>man </i>who <i>cannot </i>stop thinking <i>of </i><i>her</i><i>? </i><i>If </i><i>bullets </i>started <i>flying </i><i>my </i><i>way</i>, <i>would </i><i>she </i>step <i>in </i><i>front </i><i>of </i><i>them </i><i>the </i>way she would for <i>Han</i>? The answer <i>terrifies </i><i>me </i>so much <i>that </i><i>I </i><i>cannot </i><i>even </i><i>bring </i><i>myself </i><i>to </i><i>ask</i><i>. </i><i>Maybe </i><i>the </i><i>moment </i><i>she </i>no longer wants <i>me </i>is the moment <i>she </i><i>stops </i><i>caring </i><i>altogether</i>.
Julius turned aside, jaw clenched so hard a vein pulsed in his temple. Without another nce at the closed door, he strode down the corridor. Fabian hurried after him, shoes clicking like nervous apuse in the silent hall.
The following evening, Quinn’s chartered ne banked over the sprawling lights of Jexburgh, bringing her home just as dusk bled into night.
Inside the private hospital suite, Laura stopped short. Her breath snagged when she saw her best friend lying pale beneath the white sheets, an IV drip whispering beside the bed. Moisture zed Laura’s eyes before she could blink it away.
“Honestly, Quinn, you were gone only a handful of days and managed tond yourself like this! You promised me you’d stay safe. Do you have any idea how it felt when your phone went dead, when Han finally told me you’d been shot? I thought I might never see you again!”
“I’m sorry. Everything happened too fast,” Quinn said, voice soft but steady. “Besides, this is nothing I haven’t handled before.”
During her years with the special forces, she had walked away from injuries far uglier than the neat bandage now marking her side.
“Nothing? For heaven’s sake, must you be at death’s door before it counts as something?” Laura’s tone cracked between anger and relief.
While the two women talked, Weston drew Han a few steps toward the window and lowered his voice. “You’re certain Rowan and the Fane family’s so–called illegitimate son are one and the same?”
“DNA doesn’t lie,” Han answered. “The report proves Rowan and Quinn are siblings. I still have to brief the Ministry of Defense once we’re done here.”
“Then why did the Fane family im him as an illegitimate son? How did they pass him off as Everett Fane’s son?”
“We don’t know yet. Rowan lost his memory and once refused testing. I’ll take Quinn to Celosia soon to <i>see </i>Leander.”
Weston’s brow pinched. “The Fane family may be Azanian by blood, but they y by their own ruthless rules–especially Everett. Unmarried, no heirs except Leander, and a reputation for cruelty. He must know Leander isn’t his child.”
“So you think Everett is running/some long game?” Han asked, eyes darkening.
“Whatever the motive, keep your guard up around that household,” Weston warned.
Han dipped his head in silent agreement,
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Chapter 342 Restless Hearts
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Weston’s tone softened, yet worry lingered. “You vanished to Doria without a word. Do you know how badly your parents panicked?”
“I know.” Han’s shoulders rose and fell. “But I had to try. Three years ago, I lost my chance because I stayed silent. I won’t make that mistake again. No more regrets.”
“And what about Quinn?”
“Even if she only sees me as a kid brother, it’s fine. I’ll stay by her side anyway.”
Weston’s gaze sharpened. “Suppose Julius refuses to let her go? Rumor says he chased her all the way to Doria.”
“Others may fear the Whitethorn name–I don’t.” Han’s voice went steel–hard. “If she chooses anyone but Julius and he dares force her, I’ll stand against him and his entire family, whatever it costs.”
Weston’s eyes narrowed to thoughtful slits. “You love her that deeply?”
Han lowered his gaze,shes shadowing a rare tenderness. “Yes. When I first met her, I treated her like an opponent, challenged her at every turn. But the moment I saw her pilot a fighter jet, carving loops against an open sky, I knew I was already lost.”
The moment the wheels kissed the runway and she marched out of the cabin in razor–sharp dress blues stayed burned behind his eyes.
He feared that a single look would be enough to make him surrender, no questions asked.
In the end, fear was useless; resolve snapped like cheap wire.
The longer he shared her orbit, the faster he tumbled, helpless against the pull.
When she carried his fever–racked body through a snowstorm in search of a doctor, everyst defense copsed. That night, he epted the truth: he loved Quinn Bridger.
“You-” Weston’s brows shot up, surprise cutting through his usually measured voice. He had never guessed his nephew’s feelings for Quinn ran this deep, this early.
“Rx,” Han said, tone steady yet iron–hard. “Even if I end up shing head–on with Julius Whitethorn and his n, I will not drag the Windore or Ingram families into the fire.”
Weston let out a low snort. “Watch your wording. The Windores never start trouble, but we do not run from it either.”
Han smiled. He knew that meant his uncle was showing him support.
“Didn’t Julius charter that jet to fly Quinn home?” Weston asked, scanning the corridor as if expecting the man to appear. “Why hasn’t he shown his face?”