Chapter 632 My Duty
Chapter 632 My Duty
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Fabian stood mute, argument gutted from his throat.
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“Julius is my husband; protecting him is my duty. I’ll guard myself and our unborn child, because only if we’re safe can he be.”
With that, she set off, heels crunching lightly as she advanced toward the gates.
Gavin fell in behind her; the Shadow Guards and household sentries traded bewildered looks before trailing at a respectful distance.
At the manor’s threshold, Gavin spoke up. “You’re planning to drive there? Even flooring it, you’ll still be over an hour behind Julius.”
No road, no engine could compress the remaining hour.
“Drive? That would waste precious minutes,” Quinn scoffed.
“Waste precious minutes?” Gavin echoed, brow knitting in confusion. The next second, a distant rotor thrum sliced the air, and color drained from his face.
A helicopter–its blades beating like war drums–roared into view.
The aircraft swept lower, nose pointing directly at the estate.
Gavin’s eyes widened, disbelief freezing him as the chopper drew closer, wind whipping his
coat.
He blinked, trying to keep up. Quinn decides to reach Yarburn by helicopter? The Whitethorn family’s reach could certainly conjure such a craft, yet barely thirty minutes had passed since she woke—and the rotors were already beating toward them? When did she place that call? While she was changing?
Right then, the helicopter swept in and settled before them, dust spiraling around the landing skids. The door slid open with a hydraulic hiss that sounded like a drawn breath before a
shout.
They jumped down–two tall, broad–shouldered men–and snapped a salute. “Captain, long
time no see!”
Quinn straightened her spine, her movement crisp and automatic, and returned the salute with solemn precision.
“It has been a while,” Quinn said, her hand dropping. “But remember, I’m retired now. I don’t
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Chapter 632 My Duty
wear the title anymore.”
“Retired or not,” the pair insisted in perfect sync, “you will always be our captain.”
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Gavin followed Quinn up the narrow steps into the cabin and finally put faces to their names -Raymond Flint and Laurence Lawson, both once of her Falcon Special Forces unit.
Raymond sat like a slab of granite–thick–chested, buzz–cut, dark brows shadowing keen eyes. Every inch of him shouted soldier.
Laurence, by contrast, looked almost scholarly. His features were refined, his frame lean to the point of fragile–an appearance that belied the patch on his shoulder.
Gavin, long past the age of judging by surface impressions, knew better than to underestimate either man.
After all, had he judged Quinn on beauty alone, he would never have imagined the woman capable of sending Joaquin straight into prison.
Joaquin had once been groomed as the Whitethorn heir until tragedy splintered the family. His ambition and ruthlessness outstripped ordinary opponents.
Now Raymond and Laurence occupied the dual controls up front, hands moving across the panels with muscle–memory precision, while Quinn and Gavin buckled into the rear seats.
“Did you bring everything I asked for?” Quinn called over the thrum, addressing the men at the controls.
“Everything’s on board,” Raymond replied. “Yarburn police are already on standby. Given Joaquin’s status as an international fugitive, the Ministry of Defense has authorized us full logistical support.”
The words hit Gavin like cold water. In the brief span Quinn spent changing, she had rallied former teammates and secured official backing in a foreign city.
She was, he realized, even more resourceful than he had dared assume,
“Good. Then we move.”
“Captain, you’re carrying a child now. When operations start, Ray and I will handle the physical work. You focus on command.”
“Exactly. If that little one in your belly gets so much as startled, the boys back at base will bury
us when we return.”
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Chapter 632 My Duty
Quinn couldn’t help a quiet laugh.
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For a heartbeat, the banter carried her back to those blistering days on base–steel–grey mornings, shared rations, and comrades who never let the world feel too heavy.
Life inside the Falcon Special Forces had been a gauntlet–endless predawn drills, blistering marches, and bruises layered upon bruises, each day daring her to break.
Yet for Quinn, those brutal years shimmered like sunlight caught on steel; they were days she had lived wide–eyed, utterly alive.
Had tragedy not struck her parents, she might have remained with the unit forever, heartbeat synced to the staccato of rifle fire.
Now, a helicopter throbbed toward Yarburn, rotor wash shredding the clouds beneath it.
Fabian thumbed his headset, nerves crackling across the open channel. “Mr. Whitethorn, my apologies. Mrs. Whitethorn has left the estate.”
He clenched the phone so hard the casing creaked. “She left? I ordered every gate sealed!”
Fabian swallowed, voice dropping to a rasp. “Security tried, but Mrs. Whitethorn flashed the signet ring you gave her. The Shadow Guards obey the ring, not faces. She turned them on our men, and we had to let her through.”
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.

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