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CHAPTER 2: THE SHEEP'S CLOTHING
publish date:
2026-09-21 16:04:38
Latest chapter
90 Days Before The Apocalypse I Chose Revenge CHAPTER 25: THE BITTER MORNING
EVELYN’S POVSunlight cut through the open terrace doors like a dull yellow blade, bringing with it the suffocating weight of another blistering morning. Even at 6:00 AM, the air rolling off the city concrete was thick, stagnant, and scorching hot, clinging to the walls of the penthouse like a damp wool blanket.I lay curled on the velvet sofa, keeping my eyes shut, listening to the shallow, irritable breathing of the three people trapped in my living room.They had barely slept. Through the night, I had watched them through the narrow slit of my lashes—Julian slumped uncomfortably in the leather armchair with his sweat-stained shirt unbuttoned at the collar, Beatrice stiff-necked on a dining chair with her head lolling sideways, and Clara curled awkwardly on the hard chaise lounge, swatting angrily at the warm air whenever she stirred.Look at them, I thought quietly, a cold, sharp clarity settling deep behind my ribs beneath my trembling, fragile exterior. They think they're gu
90 Days Before The Apocalypse I Chose Revenge CHAPTER 24: THE POISON IN THE SWEETNESS
JULIAN’S POVThe second batch of unsalted chicken soup finally sat on the glass coffee table, steaming gently into the suffocating, hundred-degree air pouring through the open terrace doors.I stood beside the velvet sofa, keeping a soft, patient, and utterly devoted smile fixed on my face as I watched Evelyn slowly lift a spoonful of the bland liquid to her pale lips. My white dress shirt was plastered to my spine with sweat, my tea-stained trousers clung uncomfortably to my calves, and a dull, throbbing headache pulsed right behind my eyes."Is that better, sweetheart?" I asked, my voice dripping with practiced warmth and gentle concern. "No salt at all, just like you wanted."Evelyn swallowed the broth, blinking her red-rimmed, watery eyes up at me with pathetic, fragile gratitude. "Yes... it's better, Julian. Thank you for making Stepmother cook it again. You're so good to me.""Of course I am, baby," I murmured, reaching down to lightly stroke her damp hair, fighting the su
90 Days Before The Apocalypse I Chose Revenge CHAPTER 23: THE TASTE OF ASHES
The silence in the penthouse living room was thick, heavy, and suffocating, broken only by the low, steady hum of the central air conditioning vents.I remained curled beneath the cashmere blanket on the velvet sofa, my eyes closed, breathing slowly as if I had drifted into a restless, fragile sleep. Through the narrow slit of my lashes, I watched the three people who had spent the last few days treating me like a stray dog.Julian sat rigidly in the leather armchair, his tea-stained trousers stiff against his legs, staring down at his muted phone with a jaw clenched so tightly a muscle pulsed beneath his skin. Across the room at the dining table, Beatrice sat straight-backed, her manicured nails tapping a slow, silent rhythm of pure rage against the polished wood. Beside her, Clara slumped in her chair, her face bare and flushed from scrubbing off her expensive perfume, glaring daggers at the back of my head.They were trapped in my living room like unpaid servants on night watch
90 Days Before The Apocalypse I Chose Revenge CHAPTER 22: THE SHATTERED PORCELAIN
The silver tray holding my empty broth bowl sat on the glass coffee table, gleaming under the warm living room chandeliers.Julian was still sitting on the edge of the table, his expression bathed in that practiced, suffocating warmth, holding a linen napkin as if he were tending to a fragile, helpless child. Beatrice had returned to her dining chair, adjusting her reading glasses as she examined my late mother’s porcelain valuation sheets, while Clara leaned back against the chaise lounge, scrolling idly through her phone.They looked so comfortable. They looked so entirely convinced that they had broken me into a quiet, weeping doll who would sit under a cashmere blanket for the next thirty days until the court-appointed evaluator cleared them to strip my father’s estate bare.Thirty days.Arthur Sterling’s legal requirement echoed clearly in my mind. For an entire month, Julian, Beatrice, and Clara had to keep me calm, comfortable, and residing in my own home. If I had another
90 Days Before The Apocalypse I Chose Revenge CHAPTER 21: THE SILENT MEASURE
By 7:00 PM, the blood-orange sun had melted completely behind the jagged skyline, leaving the sky stained in a deep, bruised purple. The heatwave outside showed no sign of breaking; even through the thick, triple-paned glass of the penthouse, the evening felt heavy, trapped under a dense dome of urban pollution and humidity.Inside the living room, the atmosphere was quiet, thick with an unspoken, tense performance.Beatrice sat at the dining table, her reading glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she methodically went through a stack of my late mother’s old porcelain valuation sheets. Clara lay sprawled on the chaise lounge nearby, her eyes glued to her phone, her thumb flicking rapidly across the glowing screen as she exchanged hidden text messages with Julian.I remained on the velvet sofa under the cashmere blanket, pretending to drift in and out of a light, fitful sleep.Every time I stirred or shifted my weight, Beatrice would look up from her papers with that sicke
90 Days Before The Apocalypse I Chose Revenge CHAPTER 20: THE VELVET CAGE AND THE TEA
The penthouse elevator chimed with a soft, melodic ring, its polished brass doors sliding open to reveal the dim, quiet luxury of my foyer.The transition from the sweltering, 106-degree oven of the street to the sixty-five-degree air-conditioned chill of the apartment was so abrupt it made my lungs seize. A violent shudder ripped through my body. My silk robe felt paper-thin against my shivering skin, and my weak left ankle gave out the moment my shoe touched the hardwood floor."Whoa there, sweetie," Julian cooed smoothly, his strong arm instantly wrapping around my waist, catching me before I could hit the floor.His grip was firm, supportive, and seemingly tender. To anyone looking on, he was the picture-perfect devoted fiancé, supporting his fragile, recovering bride after a traumatic afternoon."Careful, Evie," Julian whispered into my hair, his breath warm against my neck. "You're still so weak. Let me get you to the sofa.""Thank you, Julian..." I whimpered, letting my h
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