I Caught My Husband Marrying My Pregnant Intern On Instagram—So I Sold Our $12M Mansion While They Were On Their Honeymoon / Chapter 59 / 60

Chapter 59 - The Sovereign Execution: Sacrificing the Pawn

Camilla Sterling did not look like an intern anymore.

She wore a custom carbon-fiber tactical jumpsuit bearing the Blackwood crest, two combat knives strapped to her thighs, and an assault rifle slung across her back with the easy familiarity of a seasoned mercenary. Behind her stood two hulking Blackwood operators, their red laser sights fixed directly onto Sofia and me.

Richard was on his knees, clutching his wounded ribs, staring up at Camilla with disbelief and disgust.

"You ungrateful little whore," Richard hissed, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips. "I plucked you out of a disgraced corporate family and gave you a front-row seat to the greatest financial restructuring in modern history."

"You used my father's bankruptcy to force me into your bed, Richard," Camilla said, her voice dropping into a register of icy, homicidal precision that chilled the room far more than the Arctic air. "You thought you could dangle the Vance ledger over my family's heads like meat to a starving dog. You thought I was your pawn."

She stepped forward, her combat boot coming down brutally onto Richard’s shattered wrist, grinding the bone against the glass platform. Richard cried out in agony.

"I played your pathetic son-in-law like a cheap violin," Camilla said, laughing softly. "Christian actually thought I loved him. He thought that miserable little baby growing in that laboratory was his ticket to the Forbes list. The moment he served his purpose, I tipped off the port authorities in Monaco, told them where to find his illegal bearer bonds, and let Victoria tear him apart."

She turned her gaze to me, her blue eyes gleaming with predatory triumph.

"Thank you for that, by the way, Victoria," Camilla smiled, tilting her head. "You saved me the trouble of murdering him myself. Christian was an insufferable idiot in bed, and his whining about your divorce was giving me a migraine."

"Where is your child, Camilla?" I asked, my voice razor-sharp as Sofia positioned herself between Camilla’s operators and the baby in our arms. "If this baby is Arthur’s clone... whose baby were you carrying on Instagram?"

Camilla scoffed, a vulgar, dismissive sound. "A silicon prosthetic, darling. A few strategic social media posts, a forged ultrasound from a corrupt clinic in Nice, and the entire world believed Christian had knocked up the helpless intern. It was the perfect smokescreen to keep the tabloids busy while my family's submersibles tracked the *Leviathan-IV* across the Barents Sea."

She pointed her weapon at Sofia.

"Hand over the baby, Miss Petrov. And Victoria... unclip that silver chain around your neck."

"You don't know the code, Camilla," I said, stepping between her barrel and Sofia. "Even if you scan the child's retina, without my grandfather's override key, the terminal will lock down permanently."

"Oh, I don't need to know the code, Victoria," Camilla smirked, signaling to her operator.

The operator stepped forward, carrying a black Pelican case. He popped the latches and opened the lid, revealing a portable surgical retinal scanner and a high-speed satellite uplink module.

"The Blackwood Cartel doesn't want the three trillion dollars in sovereign bonds," Camilla explained, her eyes shining with manic ambition. "We already shorted the global banking indices three days ago. When I blow this terminal and let the Tartarus vault collapse into the sea, the global economy will experience a forty-percent liquidity freeze. Our short positions will yield five hundred billion dollars in pure, unadulterated cash on the London exchange by sunrise."

"You’re going to crash the entire system," I whispered, horrified. "Pensions, payrolls, food supplies... millions of people will starve."

"Let them eat cake, Victoria," Camilla sneered. "Now give me the child, or I put a bullet through Miss Petrov's skull and take her from your corpse."

Richard suddenly moved.

With a dying burst of feral rage, my father lunged upward from the floor, his combat knife flashing from his sleeve, driving the blade straight into the thigh of the Blackwood operator standing beside Camilla.