Chapter 595
[ 492 words ]
Chapter 595:
Beatrix’s fingers tightened around the dog. For a moment, it looked as if she would refuse, burn the whole opportunity to the ground rather than hand over the one thing she loved.
And in that moment, Caroline made a decision.
She ignored the cold glares, the insults, the animosity. She ignored Brenna tugging at her sleeve, whispering for her to stay out of it.
She took a step forward, lowering her voice so only Beatrix could hear.
“She’ll be ten yards away,” Caroline said softly. “Behind a closed door, with your carrier, your aide, and probably more security than the Secretary of Defense gets at lunch. She’ll be safe.”
Beatrix’s eyes snapped to hers, bright with fury and humiliation.
“I don’t need comfort from you.”
“I know,” Caroline said. “I’m not offering comfort. I’m offering facts.”
That, somehow, reached her.
Beatrix stared at her for one long, bitter second. Then she turned, kissed the top of Chanel’s ridiculous fluffy head with a tenderness so quick it was almost invisible, and handed the dog to the aide.
T𝗋𝗲𝗇𝗱iո𝘨 nо𝗏𝘦𝗅s o𝗻 gа𝗅ո𝘰vе𝘭s.соm
“One scratch on her,” Beatrix said, her voice lethally soft, “and I will buy this building just to have it demolished.”
The aide went white. “Yes, ma’am.”
Captain Nash’s mouth twitched. It might have been irritation. It might have been the ghost of amusement.
“Form up, Hendon.”
Beatrix turned back, her face once again a flawless mask of contempt. She walked past Caroline without looking at her.
“Don’t mistake this for gratitude,” she said under her breath.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Caroline murmured.
Brenna leaned close, eyes wide with delighted disbelief. “You just de-escalated a couture hostage crisis involving a Pomeranian.”
Caroline watched Beatrix take her place in formation, spine rigid, chin high, every inch of her screaming defiance.
“No,” she said quietly. “I just gave her a reason not to lose the only thing she cares about.”
Across the hall, Beatrix’s gaze flicked back to her for half a second. Not warm. Not friendly.
But no longer entirely hostile.
Then Nash’s whistle split the air again.
“Move out!” he roared. “And if anyone else has smuggled in an emotional support ferret, I suggest you confess before I find it.”
The candidates surged forward, dragging their newly packed duffels after them.
The orientation weekend had officially begun.
“Captain Nash.”
Caroline’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the tense silence with the precision of a scalpel. She raised her hand in a salute that was technically correct but lacked the crisp, unthinking snap of a career soldier. It was the salute of a civilian who respected the uniform, not one who feared it.
Nash’s cold eyes shifted to her. “Thompson,” he said, his voice a low warning. “Do not tell me you are about to plead this trainee’s case. In this man’s army, rules are not suggestions.”
“I’m not asking you to break the rules, sir,” Caroline replied, her tone even and reasonable. “I’m asking you to reinterpret them for the benefit of the unit.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Nash’s face. This was not the emotional appeal he had expected.
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