Divorced on Monday, Bought the City on Tuesday: The Infinite

The Weight of Ghosthood

Chapter 36

The storm showed no signs of breaking. Rain battered the glass facade of the Vanguard Tower, washing the blood and shattered glass from the plaza into the storm drains.

Castellano was already wandering away into the dark. The old man stumbled like a drunkard, muttering incoherently to himself. He had no money, no identity, and no future. The Capital City had just swallowed him whole.

Eleanor remained on the wet pavement. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, her thrift-store coat clinging heavily to her shivering frame. She stared at Arthur’s polished leather shoes.

"Arthur," she whispered, her voice hoarse and broken. She reached out with trembling, mud-stained fingers, desperately trying to grip the hem of his trousers. "I don't have anywhere to go. Please. I’m cold."

Arthur didn't pull his leg away. He didn't kick her. He simply looked down at her with an expression so devoid of emotion it was infinitely crueler than anger. To hate her would mean he still cared. He felt absolutely nothing.

"The shelters open at six in the morning," Arthur said, his voice flat. "I suggest you start walking."

He stepped past her, heading for the shattered glass doors of the lobby.

Eleanor let out a gut-wrenching wail. She scrambled forward, trying to grab him again. "You can't do this! I am your wife!"

A heavy, leather-clad boot stepped squarely onto the back of Eleanor’s hand, pinning it to the asphalt.

Eleanor shrieked in pain, craning her neck upward.

Vera stared down at her. The white-haired assassin held the black umbrella effortlessly over her own shoulder, her crimson eyes glowing in the dim ambient light of the plaza.

"Do not touch him," Vera hissed, applying just enough pressure to make the bones in Eleanor’s hand grind together. "Master Vance wrote you out of his reality. If you attempt to force your way back in, I will personally dissect you. Crawl back into the mud where you belong."

Vera lifted her boot.

Eleanor pulled her bruised hand to her chest, weeping violently into her knees. She didn't look up again. She finally understood. The game was over, and she had lost everything.

Arthur walked through the ruined lobby of the Vanguard Tower. Ares remained outside, a silent, terrifying sentinel guarding the perimeter. Nyx trotted beside Arthur, her boots squeaking on the wet marble, happily blowing a pink bubble.

They stepped into the private executive elevator. Arthur swiped his keycard a digital pass Nyx had cloned to his phone and hit the button for the hundredth floor.

The ride was silent. The high-speed elevator hummed softly, rocketing them above the storm clouds. When the brass doors slid open, they stepped into a penthouse suite that defined imperial luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the lightning-struck city below.

Standing by a massive obsidian desk was Victoria Sterling.

She had poured two glasses of two-hundred-year-old scotch. She held one out as Arthur approached. Her shattered-ice eyes swept over his damp hair and crisp white shirt, completely ignoring the fact that he had just dismantled a genetically modified beast with his bare hands.

"The throne is yours," Victoria murmured, her voice a sultry, dangerous purr. "The Capital City belongs to Vance Corp."

Arthur took the glass. He didn't drink. He walked around the massive desk and sat down in Castellano’s high-backed leather chair. He placed the glass on the obsidian surface.

"You did well, Victoria," Arthur said, leaning back. The Aura of the Sovereign filled the room, making the air feel impossibly dense. "But let's establish the ground rules. You are my Chief Financial Officer now. You manage the Capital sector. You answer to Serena, and you answer to me. If you ever attempt to manipulate my ledgers to serve your own ambition..."

Arthur let the sentence hang. He didn't need to finish it.

Victoria took a slow sip of her scotch. A genuine, thrilling shiver ran down her spine. "I have no desire to steal from a god, Arthur. I just want a front-row seat to watch you burn the world down."

Before Arthur could reply, Nyx suddenly dropped her laptop onto the glass coffee table in the center of the room. The sharp clack echoed loudly.

"Boss," Nyx said. She wasn't chewing her gum anymore. Her neon-green eyes were wide, staring at a cascade of red alerts flooding her screen. "We have a massive problem."

Arthur sat forward. "Report."

"Someone just triggered a Level-9 international financial blockade on Vance Corp," Nyx typed frantically, her fingers a blur. "It didn't come from the Capital. It came from Geneva. London. Tokyo. Every major global banking syndicate just severed our Swift codes. Our supply chains are frozen. Our shipping manifests are voided."

Victoria’s face drained of color. The crystal glass slipped from her fingers, shattering on the plush carpet.

"The Sovereigns," Victoria whispered, genuine dread choking her voice. "Castellano must have sent a distress signal before I locked him out. Arthur... they own the global economy. They just turned off your oxygen."