The drive down to Washington D.C. took hours, but Cilla didn't feel the fatigue.

She pulled through the gates of Arlington National Cemetery just as the sky opened up.

A steady, freezing rain began to fall, turning the world into a wash of gray.

Cilla parked the car. She stepped out, opening a large black umbrella.

She held the urn tightly against her side, keeping it completely dry beneath the canopy of the umbrella.

She walked up the paved path, passing rows upon rows of identical white marble headstones.

As she approached the Columbarium, a cemetery guard in a rain slicker saw the star-spangled urn in her arms.

He immediately stopped, snapped his heels together, and rendered a slow, crisp salute.

Cilla gave him a brief nod and walked into the covered, open-air structure.

The cemetery administrator was waiting for her. He checked her classified military clearance documents with quiet efficiency.

He led her down a long corridor of marble niches, stopping in front of a designated section reserved for fallen intelligence officers.

Cilla stepped forward. She carefully placed the black urn into the cold stone niche.

She took the torn flag, her fingers tracing the ripped fabric, and folded it tightly, tucking the damaged part out of sight.

She placed the flag next to the urn. Then, she set the velvet box containing their medals right in front.

She took three steps back.

Her heels clicked against the wet stone floor. She stood at attention and raised her right hand to her brow in a final salute.

She stood there for a long time. The sound of the rain hitting the roof echoed around her, masking the heavy, shuddering breath she finally let out.

Her parents were safe now. They were among their own.

Cilla turned away from the niche and walked back toward the entrance of the Columbarium.

She stood under the stone archway, pulling out her phone.

There were thirty missed messages from her best friend, Lena.

Where are you? Are you okay? Call me.

Cilla typed back quickly. I'm fine. Heading back to NY to file the divorce papers.

A gust of freezing wind blew rain under the archway. Cilla narrowed her eyes against the biting chill, her face an unreadable mask as she pulled the collar of her coat tighter around her neck to block the damp cold.

She looked up and saw a massive, armored black Maybach rolling slowly up the driveway.

The car stopped silently.

Four men in dark suits stepped out immediately, opening large black umbrellas.

The rear door opened. A man stepped out into the rain.

He was tall, with broad shoulders hidden beneath a perfectly tailored black trench coat. His face was sharp, angular, and completely devoid of emotion.

It was Bennett Carpenter. The ruthless head of the East Coast's most powerful financial dynasty.

Bennett adjusted his cuffs, his dark eyes scanning the area.

His gaze swept over the archway and landed on Cilla.

Cilla's tactical instincts flared. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. The man exuded an overwhelming, predatory aura.

She met his gaze through the sheets of falling rain.

For one single second, time seemed to stop.

Bennett's eyes narrowed slightly. A flicker of intense familiarity flashed in his dark pupils. He tilted his head, studying the shape of her face, the defiant set of her jaw.

Cilla didn't break eye contact, but her expression remained completely blank.

She stepped out from under the archway, opening her umbrella, and walked past his entourage toward the parking lot.

Bennett stood frozen in the rain, watching her back until she disappeared into the gray mist.

"Sir," one of the bodyguards murmured, stepping closer with the umbrella. "It's time."

Bennett tore his eyes away from the empty path. He turned and walked into the Columbarium.

Cilla got into her car, her heart beating slightly faster than normal. She gripped the steering wheel, pushed the strange encounter out of her mind, and started the engine.

She had a war to fight in New York.

The next morning, Cilla walked into the glass-walled lobby of Hudson Tech.

She wore a sharp, tailored black blazer and trousers. Her posture was flawless.

The receptionist stood up quickly. "Mrs. Hudson, you can't go up without an appointment..."

Cilla didn't even slow down. She shot the receptionist a look so cold and piercing that the woman immediately sat back down, her mouth snapping shut.

Cilla swiped her access card, stepped into the elevator, and rode it to the executive floor.

She pushed open the heavy glass doors of the CEO's office without knocking.

Jace was sitting behind his massive oak desk, reviewing a stack of quarterly reports.

He looked up, his brow furrowing in irritation. "What are you doing here?"

Cilla walked straight to his desk. She pulled a thick manila envelope from her bag and slammed it down onto the polished wood.

The sound made Jace flinch.

"Sign them," Cilla demanded, her voice flat.

Jace looked at the bold letters printed on the top page. Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.

His face darkened instantly. The muscles in his jaw worked furiously.

"Are you serious?" Jace sneered. "Is this your little game? Playing hard to get to make me apologize?"

"I don't want your apology," Cilla said, crossing her arms. "I want your signature. Don't waste my time."

Jace flipped open the document. His eyes scanned the first page, and then he stopped.

His head snapped up. "You want half of my company shares?"

"They are marital assets," Cilla replied smoothly.

"You greedy, bloodsucking leech!" Jace yelled, slamming his hand on the desk. "You didn't build this company! I did!"

Cilla let out a dry, mocking laugh. "Really? Do you really think this company was built by you alone? Jace, without my 'contributions' behind the scenes, Hudson Tech wouldn't have even secured its first round of funding. You'd better pray my lawyers don't start digging into the intellectual property assignments to see who actually did the heavy lifting."

Jace rolled his eyes, his lip curling in disgust. "You're a glorified technician. You sit in a lab and type code. You think you're an expert? The engineering team did the real work."

Cilla didn't bother arguing. His arrogance was a terminal disease.

"Sign the papers, Jace. Or my lawyers will see you in court."

Jace pushed his chair back violently. He stood up and walked around the desk, using his height to tower over her.

He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "If you leave me, you will have nothing. You are a nobody without my money."

Cilla didn't step back. She tilted her chin up, staring directly into his eyes with absolute contempt.

Jace saw the defiance in her eyes. His strategy shifted.

He softened his expression, raising his hand to cup her cheek. "Come on, Cilla. Stop this nonsense. Just admit you overreacted, and we can go back to normal."

Cilla felt her stomach churn. She slapped his hand away so hard the sound echoed in the room.

"Don't ever touch me again," she hissed.

Jace's face twisted in pure rage.

He grabbed the divorce papers from the desk, gripped them in both hands, and ripped the thick stack of paper straight down the middle.

He threw the torn halves into the metal trash can.

"I am never signing those," Jace said, his chest heaving. "I will drag this out until you are begging me for a dollar."

Cilla smirked. "Tear them up. My lawyer has digital copies."

The office door clicked open.

Carolyn walked in, holding two cups of artisanal coffee.

She saw Cilla and immediately stopped. Her eyes widened, and she bit her lower lip, looking like a frightened deer.

"Oh... Jace, did I interrupt something?" Carolyn asked softly.

Jace immediately walked over to Carolyn, wrapping a protective arm around her waist. "No. She was just leaving."

The smell of Carolyn's floral perfume hit Cilla's nose, making her physically nauseous.

Cilla looked at the two of them. They deserved each other.

She turned and walked toward the door.

"The court summons will be delivered to your house," Cilla said without looking back.

She walked out, leaving Jace standing in his office with a vein throbbing in his forehead.

At three o'clock that afternoon, Cilla sat in a secluded booth at an ultra-exclusive Manhattan cafe.

She had received a text from Meryl demanding a meeting. Cilla only agreed because she wanted to see how desperate the woman was.

Meryl sat across the table, wearing oversized designer sunglasses inside the dimly lit room. Her Hermes Birkin bag sat on the leather seat next to her.

Meryl reached into the bag and pulled out a sleek blue folder. She slid it across the table.

"This is a settlement agreement," Meryl said, her tone dripping with superiority. "Jace has already signed it."

Cilla didn't touch the folder. She just looked at it.

"Open it," Meryl commanded.

Cilla flipped the cover open. She scanned the legal jargon quickly.

The terms were laughable. She was to forfeit all claims to Hudson Tech shares, give up the penthouse, and waive any right to spousal support.

In exchange, she would receive a one-time severance payment of one million dollars.

"One million," Meryl sneered, taking a sip of her sparkling water. "Consider it an act of extreme charity. You take this, and you disappear."

Cilla kept her face completely blank.

"If you try to fight this in court," Meryl threatened, leaning forward, "the Hudson legal team will bury you. You won't even be able to afford the retaining fees. You'll be bankrupt before the first hearing."

Cilla looked down at the signature line. Jace's messy, arrogant scrawl was already there.

He had told her he wouldn't sign the divorce papers, but he had secretly sent his mother to ambush her with this insulting offer.

Cilla picked up her porcelain coffee cup and took a slow sip.

Meryl misinterpreted the silence. She thought Cilla was calculating the money.

"You need to leave him alone," Meryl added, her voice dropping lower. "Carolyn is pregnant. Jace needs to focus on his real family now."

Cilla's heart didn't even skip a beat. It was a classic Meryl tactic, a lie designed for maximum emotional damage. If Carolyn were truly pregnant, the news would have been plastered on every high-society blog for a week, celebrated with sickening extravagance, not weaponized by Meryl in a desperate, quiet attempt to gain leverage. The lie was so obvious, so pathetic, it didn't even register as pain.

Cilla set her coffee cup down. She reached into her blazer pocket and pulled out a heavy Montblanc fountain pen.

She uncapped it with a smooth twist.

Meryl's eyes lit up with triumph. She thought she had won.

Without a single second of hesitation, Cilla pressed the gold nib to the paper and signed her name on the dotted line.

She flipped to the next page and signed again.

When she was done, she casually tossed the folder back across the table. It slid and hit Meryl's water glass with a clink.

Meryl stared at the signed documents. Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

"Did you... did you even read the terms?" Meryl stuttered, completely thrown off balance by how easy that was.

Cilla stood up. She looked down at Meryl, her eyes cold and empty.

"Keep your pathetic million dollars," Cilla said, her voice cutting through the quiet cafe. "Buy yourself a nice coffin with it."

Meryl gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Excuse me?"

"I don't want a single cent from your disgusting family," Cilla stated clearly. "I just want to be legally scraped clean of the Hudson name."

Meryl was completely speechless. The intimidation tactic had failed spectacularly.

Cilla picked up her bag and turned to leave.

She paused at the edge of the booth. "Don't ever contact me again."

Cilla walked out of the cafe and pushed the heavy glass door open.

The cool New York air hit her face.

She had just signed away millions in marital assets, but as she stood on the sidewalk, a massive weight lifted off her chest.

She was free.

She pulled out her phone and dialed Lena's number.

"Hey," Cilla said, a genuine smile touching her lips for the first time in months. "I'm officially single. Let's get dinner."