90 Days Before The Apocalypse I Chose Revenge

 

​The cold didn’t just freeze my skin—it crushed my bones.

​In my final moments, I couldn’t feel my hands. I couldn’t feel my feet. The temperature inside the abandoned shelter had plummeted to sixty below zero, and every shallow breath leaving my lungs turned to shards of ice before hitting the concrete floor.

​Through cracked, frosted eyelashes, I forced myself to look up at the two people huddled around the small battery-powered heater. It was the last heat source left in a dead world.

​"Please..." My voice came out as a ragged, agonizing scrape. "Just... ten minutes near the coils. My legs..."

​Julian didn't even turn around. My fiancé—the man whose business empire I had built with my own sweat, capital, and family connections—simply pulled his down jacket tighter around his shoulders. The high-grade thermal coat I had bought for him with my last remaining savings.

​"There's only enough power left for two people, Evie," Julian said smoothly. His tone was utterly devoid of the warmth he used to fake so effortlessly. "If we share the coils with you, none of us will make it through the night."

​Beside him sat Clara, my stepmother's daughter, wrapped in a thick fleece blanket. She pulled a small tin of preserved beef from inside her pocket—my last emergency ration, stolen from under my mattress while I lay delirious with fever, too weak to fight back.

​"Don't be selfish, Evelyn," Clara murmured, taking a deliberate, slow bite. "You're already black with frostbite. Giving you heat now is just throwing energy away. You should be happy Julian and I will live to carry on your legacy."

​They had leeched off my money the second the apocalyptic warnings began. They had maxed out my credit cards, devoured my stockpiles, and taken over the fortified villa I paid for. And when the endless snowstorm buried the city and resources ran dry, they didn't just sideline me—they shoved me into the unheated outer storage room and locked the heavy iron door from the inside.

​I tried to drag my arm across the icy floor to reach the door handle, but my fingers refused to bend. The black rot of frostbite had swallowed my wrists. A terrible, silent laugh welled up in my chest, but before it could escape, a sharp explosion of agony tore through my skull.

​The darkness didn't drift in slowly. It slammed down like an anvil.

​If I get another chance... my mind screamed into the void as my heart gave its final, heavy thud. I will burn every single one of you to ashes.

​BZZZZZZZZ.

​The sharp vibration of a cell phone rattling against a glass coffee table shattered the dark.

​I gasped, bolting upright. Air—thick, suffocatingly warm summer air—flooded into my lungs.

​"Ah—!" I choked, my hand flying to my throat. My heart battered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

​A violent tremor wracked my upper body. Before my brain could process the bright morning light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, my body reacted on pure, terrified instinct. I yanked my hands up to my face, my eyes wide and frantic, scanning my skin for the decaying, blackened patches of frostbite.

​Nothing. My fingers were smooth, healthy, and radiating intense, living heat.

​I squeezed my fists, but the sensation of phantom ice still burned beneath my fingernails. My chest heaved in ragged, shallow hitches as I struggled to draw air into lungs that still remembered suffocating at sixty below zero.

​Where am I?

​I shoved myself off the sofa, my knees wobbling so violently I nearly collapsed onto the hardwood floor. I staggered toward the glass windows, my hand catching the edge of a marble side table to steady myself.

​The city outside was bathed in a blinding, oppressive glare. Skyscrapers stretched toward a hazy, sun-scorched sky. Down on the avenue below, yellow cabs crawled through waves of shimmering asphalt heat.

​On the wall-mounted flat screen across the room, a news anchor’s voice played quietly in the background:

​"...record-breaking heatwave continues to grip the East Coast for the twelfth consecutive day, with central temperatures reaching an unprecedented 112 degrees Fahrenheit. Power grid officials urge residents to conserve energy as localized brownouts persist. Meanwhile, wildlife authorities are investigating a baffling anomaly off the coast, where thousands of disoriented migratory birds have crashed..."

​My eyes drifted from the television screen to the glass coffee table.

​Sitting beside a sweating glass of iced coffee was my phone, still buzzing aggressively. The glowing screen displayed a digital clock and a date:

​JUNE 12 — 08:30 AM

​Ninety days.

​My breath hitched, the phantom cold in my bones instantly freezing into absolute, terrifying clarity.

​The catastrophic atmospheric collapse wouldn't hit until September 10th. Right now, the world outside was sweltering under a record summer heatwave, completely oblivious to the fact that in three short months, global volcanic chain reactions would choke out the sun, plummeting the planet into an eternal, sub-zero hell.

​The phone on the table was still vibrating. The caller ID flashed a name that sent a wave of pure, concentrated venom straight into my veins:

​[ Julian ]

​My right hand twitched violently. A physical, involuntary shudder ran up my arm as my body remembered the cold shoulder he gave me while I froze on that floor.

​I took a deep breath, forcing my heart rate down. If I fight him now, if I show my hand, he and my stepmother will use their legal backing to lock up my accounts.

​I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, picked up the phone, swiped the screen, and brought it to my ear.

​"Evie! Why did it take you so long to pick up?" Julian's voice cracked through the speaker, sharp, impatient, and dripping with condescension. "Listen, the down payment for the new commercial tower is due at noon. My chief accountant said your personal authorization for the fund transfer hasn't gone through yet. Clear the seventy million right now, okay? Clara and her mother are sitting in the developer's office with me."

​Seventy million dollars.

​In my past life, I had authorized that wire immediately, handing my liquid inheritance over to his shell company while Clara and my stepmother laughed at my gullibility behind my back.

​My hand trembled violently against the phone. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell him to rot. But I knew better. Julian controlled the board, Beatrice held authority over my family's legacy trust, and if I showed resistance, they would declare me unstable and freeze my funds.

​I lowered my head, squeezing my eyes shut as I forced my voice to sound soft, hesitant, and apologetic—the weak, obedient Evelyn they expected.

​"I'm... I'm so sorry, Julian," I stammered out, making my breath sound shaky. "I was... I wasn't feeling well this morning. The heat must be getting to me."

​On the other end of the line, I heard Julian sigh with heavy, dismissive annoyance. He probably rolled his eyes.

​"Honestly, Evie, you're always getting sick over nothing," he said, his tone dripping with patronizing arrogance. "Just open your banking app and authorize it now. Clara’s mother is getting restless, and we need this signed so we can go to lunch."

​In the background, I caught Clara's sweet, fake voice cooing into the receiver: "Julian, honey, don't be too hard on her. You know how fragile Evelyn is."

​A cold, bitter knot twisted in my stomach. They were sitting together, mocking me, completely confident that I was their helpless golden goose.

​"I... I tried to log in earlier, Julian, but my bank flagged a security verification on large transfers," I lied smoothly, letting a tremble linger in my voice. "The branch manager said I have to appear in person with my physical ID to clear anything over ten million. They said it will take until tomorrow morning."

​"Tomorrow?!" Julian’s voice spiked with irritation. "Evelyn, are you serious? Do you have any idea how bad this makes me look in front of the developers?!"

​"I'm sorry, Julian, really!" I pleaded softly, playing the anxious, desperate girlfriend perfectly. "I'll go down to the central branch first thing tomorrow and sort it out. I promise. Please don't be mad at me..."

​A heavy pause lingered on the line. Julian gave a contemptuous huff. He truly believed he had me completely under his thumb.

​"Fine," he snapped arrogantly. "Make sure you're at the bank at eight sharp tomorrow. And make sure you bring your credit card—Clara and Beatrice want to pick out dresses for the charity gala tonight, and I told them you'd cover it."

​"Of course," I whispered, holding back the wave of disgust rising in my chest. "Anything you need, Julian."

​"Good. Don't disappoint me again, Evie."

​He hung up without waiting for a reply.

​I lowered the phone from my ear. The moment the call ended, the soft, apologetic look vanished from my face. My features hardened into stone.

​My hand brushed against my left inner wrist. Beneath my skin, the translucent silver mark—the Spatial Vault—pulsed with a quiet, icy light.

​Julian thought he was in control. He thought he was using me, taking my money, and keeping me as his weak, compliant heiress. Let him think that. Let Clara and Beatrice laugh at how easy I was to manipulate.

​While they spend today planning their luxury galas and celebrating their fake authority, I will quietly liquidate my assets, buy my mountain fortress, and stock my spatial vault in total secrecy.

​I opened my computer, pulled up my private trust portal, and typed a single line at the top of an encrypted file:

​PROJECT: DAY ZERO.

​Let them play the masters for now. When the ice falls, they will realize they were just cattle walking into my slaughterhouse.