My Husband Slid Divorce Papers Across The Kitchen Island And Said, “Just Sign It

A blinding geyser of superheated steam erupted through the deck grating with the roar of a jet engine.

The mercenary shrieked as the blast hurled him backward into the bulkhead, his weapon spinning harmlessly across the steel floor. I kicked the service grate upward, scrambled out of the crawlspace, and lunged straight for the environmental control console.

My fingers flew across the keyboard. The interface was an archaic Vance-Bio design—the exact software logic my father had taught me before he vanished.

*“SYSTEM OVERRIDE: AUTHORIZATION VANCE-0-1,”* I typed, entering my personal genetic encryption sequence.

The console flashed blue.

*“ACCESS GRANTED. DECK FOUR CONTAINMENT ENGAGED.”*

Instantly, heavy magnetic blast doors slammed down across the breached corridor, sealing the three trapped scientists safely inside the pressurized hyperbaric capsule. Simultaneously, the emergency nitrogen injectors hissed to life in the outer boarding chamber. Within ten seconds, the remaining mercenaries collapsed to their knees, clawing at their throats as the oxygen was vacuumed from their lungs, slumping unconscious against the deck plates.

Gordon rounded the corner, his weapon lowered, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He took in the scene—the unconscious mercenaries, the secured research core, and me standing at the console with my hands steady on the keys.

A slow, breathless smile broke across his face. "Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant."

"I told you I wasn't running," I breathed, though my heart was hammering like a trapped bird against my ribs.

Before Gordon could reach my side, the central console's comm screen flared to life with an encrypted, unauthorized satellite override. The static cleared to reveal the high-definition feed of a lavish, wood-paneled penthouse office overlooking the dazzling neon skyline of Singapore's Marina Bay.

Sitting behind a massive desk of black obsidian was a woman in her late fifties, wearing an immaculate ivory silk pantsuit. Her silver-streaked black hair was pinned into a severe chignon, and her cold, predatory eyes locked onto mine through the camera with icy amusement.

Lady Vivienne Chen.

"Dr. Elena Vance," Vivienne purred, her voice dripping with aristocratic menace. "I must congratulate you. Julian always told me you were soft—a brilliant mind wasted on sentimentality and petty moral dilemmas. It seems Julian was an idiot in more ways than one."

Gordon stepped up beside me, placing a protective hand on my shoulder, his face darkening like thunder. "The northern syndicate is dismantled, Chen. Your assets in Vancouver are seized, Julian is awaiting trial in a federal penitentiary, and your boarding team on this ship is neutralized. You have nothing."

Vivienne let out a soft, musical laugh that made my blood run cold. "Mr. Rhys, please. Do you really believe the northern families were anything more than a distraction? Julian was an expendable boy with expensive tastes and fragile vanity. I gave him enough rope to hang himself, and he did it beautifully."

She leaned forward, resting her chin on her steepled fingers. "What I care about is Arthur Vance. And right now, your dear father is sitting in a reinforced cell beneath my private compound at Isla de la Sombra. His heart is failing, Elena. The synthetic heart valves he designed for himself require a calibration serum that only *The Sovereign Dawn* can manufacture."

My throat tightened. "If you harm him, Chen, you will never get the master key. I will scuttle this ship and every single biological culture on it into the Mariana Trench before I let you monetize my father’s life."

"You won't do that, Elena," Vivienne replied smoothly, her smile turning razor-thin. "Because you are your father’s daughter. You value human life above all things. So here is my proposal: You have seventy-two hours to sail *The Sovereign Dawn* into the bay of Isla de la Sombra. You will walk into my compound alone, carrying the synthesis key and the calibration serum. In exchange, I let Arthur walk onto your ship alive."

"And if we refuse?" Gordon challenged coldly.

"Then I stop Arthur's heart," Vivienne said flatly. "And I send his body back to Vancouver in a cedar box, just like the one he sent you. The clock is running, Dr. Vance. Let us see if your bravery survives the voyage south."