Breaking Free from Abigail Bardot

(Samuel's POV)

As we settled into the SUV, the scent of cigarette smoke and cold leather filled the air. The man driving—Marco—was a name I had heard before. A shadow broker, an information dealer, the type of man who knew everything about everyone.

He glanced at us through the rearview mirror, his sharp eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Well, well," he mused, his voice carrying a thick accent. "I can't believe I'm sitting with Samuel Gebb, the private investigator who faked his own death, and Liberty, the world's finest artist, who also happens to be a ghost."

I chuckled, leaning back in my seat.

"We're different," I said simply. "You can say we've evolved past what people think they know about us."

Marco smirked but didn't comment further. Instead, he reached forward and switched on the car radio.

Breaking News:

"Today, CEO of Maa Industries, Katerina Maa, held a press conference where she publicly apologized to her husband, Henry Hans, for past mistakes…"

I turned to Henry, watching as he raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.

"Huh," I muttered. "Didn't expect that."

Marco scoffed, shaking his head as he kept driving.

"I can't believe bitches like her get to be the CEO of a company like Maa Industries." He grinned darkly, looking at Henry through the mirror. "Everyone knows it's her father's company—she's just a woman who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Without her last name, she'd be nothing."

Henry leaned back, completely unfazed.

"She's already nothing," he said coolly. "She just doesn't know it yet."

I smirked, nodding in agreement.

"Let her apologize all she wants," I said, crossing my arms. "Words won't change what's already broken."

Marco laughed, shaking his head.

"You two… I like you already."

Then I said to Marco "Before going to that Dongeon can you take us to court, i have some work there."

Marco raised an eyebrow as he drove, curiosity flashing in his dark eyes.

"Court?" he asked. "What kind of business do you have there?"

I smirked, pulling a thick envelope from my jacket and tossing it onto the dashboard. The divorce papers—signed and sealed with deception.

"I wanted to be free," I said smoothly, leaning back. "Because I got these."

Henry, sitting beside me, glanced at the papers before he leaned closer, whispering just for me to hear.

"I heard that in the original story, she never gave Samuel a divorce."

I chuckled, whispering back just as quietly.

"Too bad I'm not the old Samuel," I said, grinning wickedly. "There are so many ways to forge fake signatures, and mine? 99% authentic."

Henry smirked, amused.

"And the requirement for both husband and wife to be present in court?" he asked.

I shrugged.

"A little bribe will take care of that."

Marco, listening to our exchange, laughed darkly.

"Damn," he said, impressed. "You really know how to play dirty."

I smirked.

"I don't play dirty." I flipped the divorce papers shut with one hand, eyes glinting with satisfaction. "I play to win."

As Marco sped toward the courthouse, I couldn't help but think—

"Bardot… You took everything from the old Samuel."

"But the one standing here now? I'm taking it all back."

The courthouse loomed before us, a towering structure of cold stone and glass. The kind of place where people fought over money, power, and freedom—and today, I was here for the last one.

As Marco's black SUV pulled up to the curb, I exhaled, feeling the weight of the divorce papers in my hand.

"You sure about this?" Henry asked, adjusting his jacket as he stepped out of the car with me.

I smirked, tucking the papers under my arm. "Damn right I am. This is the final nail in the coffin for that bitch Bardot."

Marco chuckled from the driver's seat, flicking his cigarette out the window. "If you pull this off, Samuel, you might be the coldest bastard I've ever met."

I gave him a lazy shrug. "I'll take that as a compliment."

We entered the grand marble lobby of the courthouse, the scent of polished floors and paper trails filling the air. People bustled around, but I had only one destination—the clerk's office, where the final stamp of freedom would be placed on my divorce.

At the reception desk sat a middle-aged man in a brown suit, balding, with glasses that sat too low on his nose. The nameplate read "Mr. Vasili Petrov – Clerk of Records."

I stepped up to the desk and slid the divorce papers forward, my smirk never fading.

"Samuel Gebb," I said smoothly. "Finalizing a divorce."

Vasili barely glanced at me, flipping through the papers with bored indifference. That is, until his eyes landed on Abigail Bardot's signature.

He froze.

Then, he looked up sharply, adjusting his glasses.

"Abigail Bardot?" His voice carried a hint of suspicion. "I don't recall seeing her on the schedule today."

Henry leaned against the desk, his expression calm but his eyes sharp.

"She's not here," Henry said smoothly. "But everything is in order, right?"

Vasili frowned, flipping through the pages again. Something wasn't adding up for him.

"Typically, both parties must be present," he said carefully. "Especially for a high-profile marriage like this—"

I cut him off with a chuckle, sliding a thick envelope across the desk.

"Mr. Petrov," I said, lowering my voice. "I believe this will clear up any issues you might have."

His fingers hesitated before subtly pulling the envelope toward him.

The moment he peeked inside, I saw the exact moment his professionalism died.

Stacks of crisp banknotes.

Enough to make him forget about procedures.

Vasili cleared his throat, glancing around before neatly tucking the envelope into his desk drawer.

"Ah," he said, suddenly much more cooperative. "It seems… the paperwork is perfectly in order."

Henry smirked beside me.

"Good man," Henry said approvingly.

Vasili pulled out a stamp, his hands slightly trembling from either greed or nervousness. He aligned the divorce papers carefully, then with one firm press, he brought the stamp down.

THUMP.

[DIVORCE FINALIZED]

Just like that.

The chain around my neck—the last link tying me to Abigail Bardot—was shattered.

I was free.

I leaned forward slightly, looking Vasili dead in the eyes.

"Now, there won't be any… complications, will there?" My tone was polite, but cold.

Vasili shook his head quickly.

"No, no, of course not, Mr. Gebb. Everything is legal, filed, and sealed. You are—" He glanced at the paper. "—officially divorced."

Henry clapped me on the back, grinning.

"Congratulations, Samuel. You're a free man."

I exhaled, a weight I didn't even realize I was carrying disappearing.

"Damn right, I am."

(Outside the Courthouse – Celebration & Plans Ahead)

As we exited the courthouse, Marco was leaning against the SUV, smoking another cigarette. He flicked it away when he saw us.

"That was fast," he commented, his tone amused.

I held up the divorce decree, waving it slightly. "Easy money, easy job."

Marco chuckled, shaking his head. "I almost feel bad for Bardot. Almost."

Henry smirked. "She doesn't even know she's single yet."

I laughed, stuffing the papers into my jacket.

"She'll find out soon enough. And trust me—she's going to break."

Abigail Bardot thought she had control.

She thought she had trapped Samuel Gebb forever.

But now?

Now she was nothing.

No husband. No control. And soon? Not even her company.

I turned to Henry, my grin widening.

"Now that that's handled… time to deal with Black Hollow Dungeon."

He nodded, his expression shifting back to seriousness.

"Yeah. Time to level up."

Marco opened the car door.

"Then let's get moving, gentlemen. Your next battlefield awaits."

I took one last look at the courthouse before stepping into the car.

Abigail Bardot?

She was nothing but a bad memory now.