"She threw champagne in my face and ripped my dress on livestream—unaware the yacht belonged to me."

Arthur Vale and Cassandra Vale sat at a corner table, surrounding four high-ranking corporate directors from the European Maritime Board.

Cassandra’s silver dress was rumpled, her makeup smeared with tears, her voice high-pitched and hysterical as she slammed her glass onto the table.

"It's a conspiracy!" Cassandra shrieked frantically. "Elena Vance is using her family's trust to illegally destroy my father's business! She had Captain Laurent lie about the vessel ownership to embarrass me in front of my livestream followers!"

Arthur Vale leaned forward, his face pale and sweat-slicked as he looked at the senior director, Lord Marcus Vance (an estranged secondary cousin of my late father).

"Marcus!" Arthur pleaded desperately. "You hold twenty percent of the voting proxy on the European Maritime Board! If you sign the emergency injunction tonight, we can block Elena's authority over the Marseille docks and force her to reinstate our distribution lease!"

Lord Marcus Vance—a greedy, arrogant sixty-year-old man who had been secretly trying to seize control of my family's maritime trust for three years—offered a dark, razor-sharp smile.

"Elena Vance is twenty-four years old, Arthur," Marcus sneered smoothly, sipping his cognac. "She thinks because her father left her fifty-five percent of the voting shares, she can rule the Mediterranean like a queen. Tonight... we convene an emergency board meeting at the Casino de Monte-Carlo and strip her of her executive proxy."

BOOM!

The heavy carved mahogany double doors of the VIP lounge didn't just open—they were thrown wide with a sudden, thunderous force that made the brass handles crack against the walls.

The chatter inside the lounge died into an absolute, breathless silence.

Walking into the lounge, flanked by Captain Laurent, Rachel Vance, and six broad-shouldered Moretti security operators, was Julian Moretti.

And walking directly beside his right shoulder, wearing a breathtaking, floor-length midnight-blue velvet gown, her dark hair swept back in an elegant knot, her hazel eyes holding zero fear, was me.

I held Julian’s broad, calloused hand firmly in my palm, my posture royal, my spine straight as a queen reclaiming her kingdom.

Lord Marcus Vance dropped his cognac glass.