MY BILLIONAIRE EX THREW $30 AT ME WHEN I WAS PREGNANT AND SAID: "TAKE IT AND DISAPPEAR!" 10 YEARS LATER, I SAW HIM ON TV TELLING MILLIONS: "MY GREATEST REGRET IS THAT I NEVER HAD CHILDREN." I LOOKED AT THE 10-YEAR-OLD TWINS SLEEPING BESIDE ME—BOTH CARRYING HIS UNMISTAKABLE FACE—AND LAUGHED. THEN I TEXTED MY LAWYER: "GET THE INVITATIONS READY. WE'RE ATTENDING HIS COMPANY GALA."

The hum of the ventilation fans died, replaced by a terrifying, heavy silence. The temperature inside the small stone vault began to rise rapidly as oxygen levels started to drop.

Marcus pulled a heavy breaching tool from his tactical bag, slamming it repeatedly against the iron door frame with tremendous force, but the reinforced steel didn't show a single dent.

"It’s reinforced tungsten steel, boss," Marcus gasped out, wiping sweat from his forehead. "We can't breach this manually."

Ethan didn't panic. He walked over to Dr. Thorne’s workbench, his sharp blue eyes scanning the vintage electronic control panels. "Thorne was a paranoid man. He never built a vault without a mechanical fail-safe."

"Where is it?" I asked, breathing heavily as the air inside the room grew thin and stale.

"Look at the floor tiles," Ethan said, dropping to his knees, ripping away an old Persian rug covering the floor. Beneath the rug was a cast-iron pressure plate built directly into the stone foundation. "It’s a manual hydraulic release. It requires a two-man counterweight."

"How much weight?" I asked, dropping to my knees beside him.

"At least three hundred pounds," Ethan said, looking into my eyes. "Marcus and I have to stand on the primary release mechanism while you pull the manual emergency lever behind the main electrical box!"