Chapter 269 Blades Of Betrayal 

Laura never expected Weston to appear the moment she ordered a few male models at the bar. The lively private room fell silent at once; his presence carried a gravity no one could ignore. 

“So this is your new pastime? Since when do you unwind like this?” Weston asked, stopping directly before her. 

Laura rolled her eyes and glanced around. The room was packed with her staff. They were celebrating a newly won project, and she had booked the venue, ordered drinks, and invited a few handsome young men to liven things up. The models had barely warmed the seats beside her when Weston arrived unannounced. 

Instead of answering his question, she said, “What brings you here?” 

“I asked first, so you answer first,” Weston said evenly. 

“Ms. Wentworth, who is this gentleman?” an employee ventured. 

“Just a lawyer I know,” Laura replied, brow creased. 

She rose, seized Weston by the arm, and hauled him out of the room. 

“All right, why are you really here?” she hissed once the door shut. 

“I told you–I asked first. Answer.”  

His tone was maddeningly calm. 

Frustration lodged in her throat. Conversing with Weston was like arguing against a brick wall. She wondered how she had ever dated a man like this–then her gaze settled on his impossibly handsome face, and she remembered. Beauty led people astray. The ancients never lied. 

“Hiring male models is perfectly normal. As for, since when… I started after I began earning real money. Cash exists to make life more comfortable and fun, doesn’t it?” she said. 

“So paying men to sit beside you feels comfortable and fun?” 

“Exactly. Different types, different moods–total satisfaction.” She shrugged. 

“Your boyfriend does not mind?” Weston asked, eyes fixed on hers. 

“Not at all. I told you, he is very generous.” She smiled. 

Weston’s dark gaze narrowed as he stepped closer. 

Laura retreated, trying to widen the space between them, but he only advanced more insistently. 

She backed away until her shoulder blades pressed against the corridor wall. There was nowhere else to go. 

“Laura, do you really have a boyfriend?” Weston lowered his head, eyes locked on hers. 

His gaze seemed to peel away every mask she owned. She almost wanted to cover those eyes, shove him onto a bed, and make him beg. Stop. Enough fantasies. 

Laura lifted her chin, meeting his gaze squarely after reining in her scattered thoughts. Obviously. Why would I lie to you?” 

He studied her, as if weighing the truth behind her words. After a pause, he stepped back, lit a cigarette, took two slow drags, then let it smolder between his fingers. 

Laura had to admit–some men looked unfairly good smoking, like they’d stepped out of a poster. Weston was one of them. But handsome or not, he no longer held her interest. 

“Enjoy your smoke, Mr. Windore. I need to return; my staff–and the models–are waiting.” 

She had barely turned when his voice sliced through the hallway behind her. 

“I don’t care who he is. Break up with him and come back to me.” 

She chuckled. “Not a chance.” 

“Why?” The cigarette trembled between his fingers, ash fluttering to the floor. 

“Because I like my boyfriend. And honestly, that line is pure arrogance. You think you are irreplaceable? Good horses never graze the same field, and I have far greener pastures now.” 

She had no interest in withered grass; let someone else chew on it. 

With that, Laura walked back to the private room, never bothering to see how dark his expression grew. 

Chapter 270 I Am Over Him 

The next morning, Quinn arrived at work to find colleagues whispering about the handsotne lawyer who had shown up the night before. Speculation about his relationship with Laura buzzed through the office 

“Weston Windore came looking for you last night?” Quinn asked. She had skipped the bar because Julius had kept her occupied. 

“He did,” Laura replied. 

“What did he want?” 

“To get back together.” 

Quinn was taken aback. “And you said?” 

“I refused. I’m over him.” Laura smiled. 

“Whatever you decide, I’m with you. If he causes trouble, tell me, and I’ll handle it,” Quinn said. 

“Relax. Weston isn’t the clingy type. One rejection will bruise his pride enough to keep him away.” 

Their conversation broke off when a secretary arrived. “Ms. Bridger, Trent Grafton from Grafton Tech is at reception asking to see you.” 

Quinn blinked in surprise. 

Laura frowned. “What does he want? Beg clemency for his mother and sister? The hearing is in a week.” 

“Whatever it is, it’s not my concern.” Quinn shrugged and told the secretary, “Tell them I’m unavailable.” 

Yet when quitting time came, Trent blocked Quinn at the company entrance. 

“Quinn, can we talk?” he asked. 

“I doubt we have anything to discuss.” 

“Of course we do. I wronged you. Divorcing you was a mistake, and I’ve been regretting it every day. I finally realized how deep my feelings are. Let’s remarry” Fixing his gaze on her, he said, “I love you, Quinn. I won’t fail you again.” 

“Remarry?” Quinn stared at him, stunned. 

Laura, standing next to Quinn, swore. “Trent, how dare you even suggest that!” 

“This is between Quinn and me. Stay out of it,” Trent snapped. 

Quinn’s voice turned icy. “Laura/speaks for me. What makes you think you have the right to ask for a second chance?” 

“Because I know you still care, and I finally understand that you’re the one I truly love,” Trent insisted. “I swear I’ll treat you well.” 

The earnestness on his face only struck Quinn as pitiful and absurd. 

“You swore the same when you proposed. Then look what you did. Do you think I’ll believe your twice? “Sidonie lied to me. I never knew you were the one who saved my life,” Trent said. 

“So your vows are valid only if I’m your savior?” Quinn shot back. 

Trent faltered. “No, that’s not what I meant. I won’t fail you this time.” 

“Too late. Leave now, or stay and get punched, or I will call the police for harassment. Your choice, Quinn said, voice like ice. 

“I don’t believe you feel nothing for me!” Trent cried after a pause. 

He lunged forward, reaching for her arm. 

Another hand caught his wrist first, iron–strong. 

Pain exploded up Trent’s arm, sharp enough to steal his breath. 

Trent froze when he saw Julius, who appeared out of nowhere beside him. “M–Mr. Whitethorn, my hand —” he stammered, dread climbing his spine. 

“Trent Grafton, remember–you and Quinn are divorced.” Julius‘ voice was low, his eyes dark as a gathering storm. 

“Mr. Whitethorn, a divorce doesn’t mean we can’t marry again,” Trent said, forcing the words out past the pain. 

“Apparently, I was too kind last time, and you’ve forgotten who Quinn belongs to now,” Julius said, turning to her. “Mind if I deal with him?” 

“So long as it’s legal and you can win the case, go ahead,” Quinn replied. 

Julius inclined his head. A sharp crack split the air, and Trent’s scream rose like torn canvas. 

Julius had broken Trent’s arm. 

Trent clutched his useless arm while Julius said, “My apologies–I exerted too much force. Should you seek compensation, feel free to speak with my legal team.”