My husband took me to his company’s luxury gala in Miami / Chapter 35 / 52

Chapter 35 - The Obsidian Protocol

The driver was Marcus, Arthur’s longtime head of personal security, his weathered face pale beneath the neon glow of the dashboard instruments.

"They hit the penthouse hard, boss," Marcus said without turning his head as Ethan and I threw ourselves into the back seats. "Tactical squad with diplomatic immunity plates out of the Swiss Consulate. We have less than fifteen minutes before NYPD's corrupted liaisons quarantine the block."

"Get us to the hangar at Teterboro," Ethan ordered, scanning the mirrors as Marcus slammed the vehicle into gear, peeling out of the subterranean loading dock into the midnight traffic of Manhattan. "Is the Gulfstream ready?"

"Fueled and flight plan filed for London," Marcus replied.

"Cancel London," I commanded suddenly, leaning forward between the front bucket seats.

Both men glanced at me through the rearview mirror.

"Claire, we have safe houses in Mayfair and the Cotswolds," Ethan argued, frowning. "Whitehall still owes Arthur debts. We can disappear."

"I spent my entire marriage running from shadows," I said, each word steady, calculated, and sharp as broken glass. "I spent the last six months fighting Julian Vance while my husband tried to auction off my life at a Miami gala. I am not running anymore. My mother said she was part of the Obsidian Council. Where is their sovereign base?"

Marcus's hands tightened on the leather steering wheel until his knuckles went stark white. "The Council doesn't have an office, Miss Sterling. They don't have board meetings. They own private banks, sovereign wealth funds, and deep-water ports. But every five years, they gather in neutral waters to balance the global ledgers."

"Where?" I pressed.

"The Mediterranean," Marcus whispered. "A converted naval dreadnought registered as a research vessel: *The Leviathan*. She's currently anchored twelve miles off the coast of Monaco, just outside French maritime jurisdiction."

"Then we aren't going to London," I declared, staring at the flashing skyline through the tinted window. "We are going to Monaco. If my mother wants to welcome me to her throne, I won't make her wait."

Ethan stared at me, a mixture of awe and profound terror flickering in his gaze. "Claire, you walk onto that vessel, you don't walk off unless you take their crown or die in their brig."