Chapter 3

“Mr. Lambert sent us to sign some papers with you,” the lead thug repeated, a cruel grin visible beneath his mask as he tapped a steel pipe against his palm. “Sign the trust transfer documents, Miss Smith, or we’ll break your fingers one by one.”

Cecilia didn't flinch. She stood near her kitchen counter, her eyes cool and detached.

In her past life, she had fought packs of feral wasteland beasts with nothing more than a rusted knife. Three hired thugs with pipes and handguns were nothing more than targets.

“Julian’s paying you to break into my home?” Cecilia asked softly.

“Shut up and sign!” the lead thug snarled, stepping forward to grab her shoulder.

The moment his hand reached out, Cecilia moved.

She grabbed his wrist, twisted it outward, and slammed her palm directly into his elbow joint.

CRACK!

The thug let out a blood-curdling shriek as his arm bent backward at a sickening angle. He dropped the steel pipe. Cecilia caught the pipe mid-air and spun on her heel, driving the heavy metal bar straight into the second thug’s kneecap.

BANG!

“AGHHH!” The second thug collapsed to the floor, clutching his shattered leg and rolling in agony.

The third thug panicked and drew a suppressed handgun from his jacket, aiming it at her chest. “Bitch—!”

Before his finger could press the trigger, Cecilia focused her mind and activated her Doomsday Pocket Dimension.

SWOOSH!

The handgun vanished instantly from the thug’s grip, popping out of existence and landing safely inside her spatial storage!

The thug stared at his empty hand in sheer, unadulterated horror. “What the—?! Where’s my gun?!”

Cecilia didn't give him time to comprehend. She stepped inside his guard, grabbed his collar, and slammed his head violently against the solid granite kitchen island.

THUD!

The third thug crumpled to the marble floor, unconscious, blood pooling beneath his nose.

In less than ten seconds, all three intruders were neutralized.

Cecilia stood over the lead thug, who was squirming in the floor, sweating profusely, clutching his broken arm. She knelt beside him, pulled his smartphone from his pocket, and unlocked it using his thumbprint.

She took a clear photo of the three broken thugs groaning on her penthouse floor and opened Julian’s chat window.

She sent the picture with a simple message:

“Your dogs are broken, Julian. Next time, come yourself.”

She tossed the phone onto the thug’s chest and looked down at him cold-heartedly. “Get out of my house before I break your other arm.”

The two conscious thugs scrambled to their feet, dragging their knocked-out partner behind them, stumbling over each other as they fled the penthouse in sheer terror.

Cecilia picked up her leather jacket, put on dark sunglasses, and walked out behind them. She had no time to waste cleaning blood. In twenty-nine days, this luxurious skyscraper would become an icy tomb anyway.

*******

Thirty minutes later.

Cecilia pulled her SUV into the high-security subterranean garage of Thorne Defense Group—the most elite military-industrial firm in the country.

In her past life, Thorne Group was the only faction that constructed a shelter capable of surviving the first years of the freeze. Their leader—a ruthless, formidable man named Dominic Thorne—was a former Special Forces commander known for his unyielding authority and absolute military precision.

Cecilia stepped out of the private elevator into the executive suite on the top floor.

Standing by the floor-to-ceiling glass window was Dominic Thorne. He wore a tailored charcoal suit that barely concealed his broad, muscular frame. Short black hair, sharp features, and an air of intimidating command that filled the entire room.

He turned around slowly, his piercing gray eyes locking onto Cecilia.

“Miss Smith,” Dominic said, his deep, gravelly voice echoing in the quiet room. “My assistant said you transferred a non-refundable fifty-million-dollar deposit just to book a ten-minute meeting with me.”

“Time is precious, Commander Thorne,” Cecilia said smoothly, placing an encrypted drive on the conference table.

Dominic’s eyes flicked to the drive, then back to her face. “What does the heiress of Smith Enterprise want with Thorne Group?”

“I want to buy The Citadel,” Cecilia stated plainly.

Dominic’s dark eyebrows raised slightly.

The Citadel was Thorne Group’s classified subterranean bunker built deep within the granite bedrock of Mount Obsidian, thirty miles outside the city. It was designed to withstand nuclear war, chemical fallout, and extreme disasters.

“That facility is a corporate asset,” Dominic said coldly. “It’s not for sale.”

“Everything has a price, Dominic,” Cecilia said, taking a step closer. “Two billion dollars cash. Wire transfer within the hour. But I want full control and custom modifications.”

Dominic walked over, his towering presence casting a long shadow over her. He picked up the drive and opened the specifications file on his wrist terminal.

His eyes narrowed as he read her demands:

Upgrade outer blast doors to reinforced three-meter titanium alloy.

Install dual geothermal heating reactors and heavy solar arrays.

Equip subterranean hydroponic greenhouses and water filtration systems.

Install air-heating units capable of processing sub-zero arctic winds.

Dominic closed the file and looked at Cecilia with intense scrutiny.

“Geothermal heat grids? Air-heating units for arctic winds?” Dominic stepped closer, his cold gray eyes boring into hers. “These aren't specs for a nuclear fallout shelter. You’re building a fortress against extreme frost. What do you know, Cecilia?”

Cecilia didn't flinch under his suffocating pressure. She met his gaze with unyielding determination.

“I know that in less than thirty days, the weather will destroy this city,” she said softly. “Do we have a deal, Commander?”

Dominic stared at her for five long seconds. A faint, intriguing glint flashed in his gray eyes.

“Two billion dollars,” Dominic said, leaning against the table. “Thorne Group will deploy our best engineering teams starting today. The modifications will be completed in twenty-five days.”

“Good,” Cecilia said, extending her hand.

Dominic took her hand. His grip was warm, strong, and calloused.

Before they could finalize the details, the double doors of the boardroom were suddenly slammed open!

BOOM!

A group of uniformed police officers burst into the room, led by a lawyer in an expensive suit holding a legal document.

Behind them stood Julian Lambert, his face pale with rage, his arm wrapped in heavy bandages!

“THERE SHE IS!” Julian yelled, pointing a trembling finger at Cecilia. “Officer! That’s Cecilia Smith! She hired thugs to beat up my staff, stole company funds, and is laundering money!”