Novels by Scarlett Vex

The Black Rose lead submarine navigated the suffocating, silent pressures of the abyss for seven relentless days. It moved like a ghost through the thermal layers, evading every sonar sweep and satellite eye that the Voss and Reyes empires possessed. Finally, in the frozen twilight of the eighth day, the charcoal-black leviathan breached the surface.The location was a private, uncharted bay eighty nautical miles north of Reykjavik, Iceland. The surface of the water was a jagged mosaic of thin, crystalline ice that groaned as the hull crushed through it. Above, the Aurora Borealis draped across the heavens like a vibrant, emerald silk ribbon, flickering against a sky so black it felt heavy. A biting wind, sharp enough to draw blood, swirled curtains of fine snow across the deck. The ice crystals hit the skin like a thousand microscopic needles—merciless and waking.Ava stood at the summit of the boarding ramp, her bare feet numb against the freezing steel. She wore her heavy cashmere

The deep sea was a realm of shattered black silk, a crushing, obsidian abyss where the light of the sun had never dared to reach. Outside the titanium hull of the Black Rose lead submarine, the ocean was a chaotic mess of cavitation and churning white foam. The low-frequency hum of twelve synchronized nuclear engines rose into a deafening, subsonic roar—a death symphony conducted by a woman who had finally run out of things to lose. Inside the command deck, the clinical red emergency lighting stretched the shadows of the crew into long, jagged knives, each one appearing ready to strike at the heart of the next.Ava stood at the center of the holographic projection table, her frame appearing dangerously fragile yet possessed by a terrifying, newfound gravity. Her hands were braced against the metal rim of the console, her knuckles bone-white and trembling with a lethal cocktail of adrenaline and exhaustion. The collar of Sebastian’s heavy cashmere coat had slipped, revealing the pale,

The command deck of the Black Rose lead submarine was less a naval vessel and more an obsidian cathedral submerged in the crushing silence of the abyss. The interior was a masterpiece of reinforced titanium and dark, matte-finished surfaces that seemed to absorb the very light. At the center, a massive holographic projection table cast a haunting glow upward, mapping the deep blue of the Pacific. Twelve charcoal-black submarine signatures—the "Twelve Petals"—swam slowly on the digital chart like prehistoric leviathans patrolling the boundaries of their sovereign’s territory. They were a phalanx of steel and shadow, guarding their newly discovered queen with a predatory stillness.Ava stood before the glowing projection, her hands braced against the freezing metal edge of the table. Her knuckles were bone-white, the skin stretched tight over the joints. The heavy cashmere coat she wore—the one she had taken from Sebastian—swayed with the subtle, rhythmic pitch of the hull, the hem brus

The command center of the Zumwalt-class destroyer was instantly bathed in a rhythmic, violent crimson. Every flat-panel display, every tactical terminal, and every holographic projection turned blood-red simultaneously. The high-pitched shriek of the proximity alarms was so piercing it felt like it was carving through the ear drums of everyone present.On the primary radar array, twelve distinct silhouettes emerged from the depths, closing in with a speed that defied conventional naval physics. As the high-definition imaging systems locked onto the lead vessel, the logo painted across its conning tower became visible—a massive, charcoal-black rose. In the sharp, clinical clarity of the cameras, the rose looked almost alive; its petals seemed to drip with fresh blood, and the thorny stems wrapped around the hull like a constricting serpent.Landon Voss stood frozen. For the first time since this nightmare began, the billionaire’s polished, impenetrable mask didn’t just crack—it shatter

The captain’s stateroom of the destroyer felt less like a luxury suite and more like a pressurized glass coffin. Through the three-sided panoramic windows, the Pacific was a flat, lifeless expanse of leaden grey. Occasionally, the black spine of one of the six Virginia-class submarines would breach the swell like a surfacing leviathan. The low, rhythmic hum of their sonar arrays vibrated through the reinforced titanium walls, a constant, subsonic reminder to everyone inside: there were no blind spots, no exits, and no mercy left in this sector of the ocean.Ava sat at the head of the long mahogany conference table, her spine as rigid as the steel hull beneath her feet. She was draped in a heavy black cashmere overcoat—Sebastian’s—which she had pulled tight around her frame. The dark fabric did its best to hide her injuries, but it could not mask the profound exhaustion etched into the hollows of her cheeks or the fine, red veins of sleeplessness in her eyes. Before her sat a cup of bl

The dawn outside the destroyer’s command cabin was a cold, slate-grey mist, casting a ghostly light over the Pacific. The ocean stretched out like a sheet of hammered lead, reflecting the bruised sky. Six nuclear submarines sat low in the water like prehistoric predators, their radar arrays rotating with a clinical, rhythmic slowness that felt like a physical weight on the chest. Inside the cabin, the air conditioning was set to a frigid temperature, but it couldn't mask the thick atmosphere of blood, gunpowder, and the sharp, briny tang of seawater. Even more suffocating was the silence between the four people present—a silence charged with suppressed breathing and lethal intent.Ava sat in the primary command chair, her silhouette sharp and regal despite the exhaustion etched into her bones. She was enveloped in Sebastian’s heavy black trench coat, the collar pulled up to its limit to hide the constellation of bruises and the fresh, dark bite mark on her neck—a brand left by Landon