Chapter 2: Freezing the Parasites' Assets

Julian’s hand halted inches from Astrid’s face. It wasn't out of mercy, but because a burst of mocking laughter suddenly tore from his throat.

"A divorce?" Julian lowered his hand and scoffed, as if he had just heard the most pathetic joke of the century. "You want to divorce me, Astrid? Don't be ridiculous. You think you can bluff me just because you threw a tantrum over seeing Camilla last night?"

Eleanor brushed the shredded paper off her brocade gown, sneering with deep disgust etched into her wrinkled face.

"Ungrateful, barren wretch!" Eleanor shrilled, thrusting a trembling finger at Astrid’s nose. "The Sterling family took you in for two years! We gave you the honor of being a director's wife! If Julian hadn't been charitable enough to marry you, you’d be nothing more than a lonely orphan rotting away with your grandfather’s inheritance. And now you dare threaten us?"

Julian folded his arms over his chest, his arrogant smirk returning. "Drop the cheap drama, Astrid. Apologize to Mother, make breakfast, and sign the transfer papers. Do that, and I’ll pretend this little stunt never happened."

Astrid didn't smile back. She didn't even blink.

To her, the two people standing before her were already walking corpses, counting down the days until they drowned in the dark. The electric-blue script floating in her vision slowly dissolved, but the absolute awareness of her secret dimension remained burned into her mind.

Ding-dong!

The chime of the front doorbell echoed through the estate, followed by the crisp, hurried rhythm of footsteps coming down the hall.

A tall shadow fell across the open doorway. Raymond, her late grandfather's personal attorney, strode in wearing an impeccably tailored black suit, a rigid leather briefcase in hand. Right behind him, four burly guards in tactical security uniforms flanked the entrance.

Julian frowned, caught off guard. "Raymond? What the hell are you doing here this early? And why did you bring these thugs?"

Raymond didn't spare Julian a glance. The middle-aged attorney adjusted his glasses, bowed respectfully toward Astrid, and popped open his briefcase.

"Good morning, Miss Astrid. In accordance with your emergency instructions from an hour ago, all revocations have been formally ratified by the district court this morning," Raymond announced in a cold, professional baritone.

He turned toward Julian and Eleanor, brandishing copies bearing official red court seals.

"Mr. Julian Sterling, Mrs. Eleanor Sterling. Under the binding provisions of the late Elder Pierce’s estate, all trust funds, majority shares, real estate holdings, and Pierce family accounts fall under the sole jurisdiction of Miss Astrid Pierce. No third party holds claim, including marital partners," Raymond stated smoothly. "As of this moment, Miss Astrid has officially terminated every single financial authorization granted to Mr. Julian over the Pierce estate."

"What did you say?!" Eleanor shrieked, staggering backward.

"You have no right to do that!" Julian protested, panic creeping into his voice. "I'm her husband! Everything acquired during marriage is marital property—"

Bzzzt! Bzzzt! Bzzzt!

Julian’s words were cut short as his phone vibrated violently against his chest. At the same time, Eleanor’s phone on the vanity erupted in a barrage of high-priority notification chimes.

Julian yanked his phone from his coat pocket, his eyes widening in horror at the screen.

[Central Bank Notice: The Centurion Card guaranteed by Astrid Pierce has been PERMANENTLY SUSPENDED.]

Ding!

[Oakhaven Legal: The 18th-floor office lease for Sterling Capital has been TERMINATED by the property owner, Pierce Corp. Access will be sealed in 60 minutes.]

Ding! Ding!

[Exchange Alert: Margin call initiated! Your leveraged positions require a cash collateral injection of $4.5 million USD before 9:00 AM tomorrow, or your entire portfolio will face immediate liquidation!]

All color drained from Julian’s face. He went white as a sheet, his knees buckling beneath him. His lavish lifestyle, his prestigious penthouse office, his high-stakes trading—every bit of it had been propped up by the Pierce name. Without Astrid bankrolling him, he was just an insolvent fraud staring down financial ruin and prison time.

"Julian... what is happening?" Eleanor wailed hysterically, staring at her screen as alert after alert declined her salon bookings and boutique charges. "My card was declined! All my shopping accounts are frozen!"

"Astrid!" Julian lunged forward, eyes bloodshot, reaching frantically for her shoulders. "Unfreeze the accounts! Are you out of your mind?! I have millions in margin debt due tomorrow morning! If I don't pay, they'll destroy me!"

Before his fingers could graze a single thread of her clothes, two towering security guards stepped in. They seized Julian’s arms and wrenched them behind his back, forcing him down with a grimace of agony.

"Keep your hands off Miss Pierce," the guard warned coldly.

Astrid didn't bother sparing him a glance. With practiced grace, she picked up her heavy winter coat and grabbed the pre-packed suitcase sitting at the foot of the bed.

"Have a wonderful day, Julian," Astrid said calmly as she stepped past him. "Let's hope Camilla’s savings are enough to keep you out of bankruptcy."

"Astrid! Don't you walk away! Open the damn accounts, Astrid!" Julian’s desperate roars echoed down the corridor, drowned out only by Eleanor collapsing onto the marble floor in hysterics.

Astrid walked out into the morning air without looking back once.

Waiting in the driveway below was a rugged, matte-black SUV her grandfather had left behind. Astrid stowed her luggage in the back and climbed into the driver's seat. Locking the doors tight, she took a slow, grounding breath to steady her pulse.

Now, it was time to test the gift she had dragged back from death.

Her eyes settled on a disposable cup of piping hot coffee resting in the center console, bought by her driver before she had fired him earlier that morning. Wisps of steam still curled from the lid.

Astrid reached out, her fingertips lightly brushing the cardboard.

Focus. Absorb.

Whoosh.

In the blink of an eye, the coffee vanished. No flash of light. No sound. Yet in her mind’s eye, she could clearly perceive an endless white expanse. The coffee cup floated there in absolute stillness. Even the wisps of steam above the sipping lid were frozen in mid-air, as though time itself had slammed to a halt.

Astrid sat quietly, watching the dashboard clock tick away five full minutes.

Retrieve.

She opened her palm. Instantly, the cup materialized back into the console.

Astrid touched the sleeve. The paper was scorching hot, exactly as it had been five minutes ago. Fresh steam drifted upward, the rich aroma unchanged, without the slightest drop in temperature.

A dangerous, satisfied smirk curved her lips.

"Absolute temporal stasis," she whispered, her eyes shining with quiet triumph.

This meant tens of thousands of hot meals, sterile medications, drums of fuel, and survival gear could be stored inside without ever spoiling, rotting, or cooling down—even after a hundred years.

Wasting no more time, Astrid turned the ignition. The heavy V8 engine roared to life. She slammed the gas, speeding away from the gated luxury community and heading straight for Blackwood Hill. At hundreds of meters above sea level, her grandfather’s private mountain retreat sat on the highest ground in the county—the safest sanctuary, well beyond the reach of the coming apocalypse.

The asphalt mountain road climbed steeply into the quiet woods, flanked by dense pine trees touched with early autumn gold. The outside air felt unnaturally warm, a subtle omen of the atmospheric collapse the world had yet to notice.

Just as Astrid rounded a sharp, narrow curve hugging the ridge, the deafening screech of burning rubber shattered the wilderness silence.

SCREEECH!

A pitch-black, armored military tactical vehicle without license plates whipped out from behind a rocky bluff, cutting across the lane and skidding sideways to block the road inches from her front bumper.

Astrid slammed on the brakes. Her seatbelt caught her chest as the SUV lurched violently to a halt.

Before she could reach for the weapon stashed beneath her seat, the heavy reinforced door of the armored rig swung open.

A towering, broad-shouldered man stepped onto the road. Clad in a tight black tactical compression shirt that mapped out cords of lean muscle, combat cargo pants, and a thigh holster, he radiated an aura of lethal, suffocating discipline. His jaw was carved from granite, his gaze as piercing as a hunting falcon.

Declan Mercer.

He walked up to the driver's side of Astrid's SUV with deliberate, unhurried steps. Without hesitation, Declan raised his right hand and tapped the window with the muzzle of a matte-black tactical sidearm.

Tap. Tap.

His deep, gravelly voice cut clearly through the glass, laced with deadly calm:

"This mountain road is my security perimeter. Turn around now, or I treat this vehicle as a hostile threat."