STOCKPILING (1)

Sandra's Pov

Veronica’s raspy voice shattered the brief silence, sharp as broken glass. She snapped her gaze to her son, her chest heaving underneath her floral blouse.

"Is your wife drunk, Drake? What kind of ridiculous joke is this?"

Drake stared down at the crisp header of the divorce papers, his breath coming in shallow, ragged hitches. A strain of nervous laughter bubbled up from his throat, hollow and forced, as he tried to regain his footing. He flicked his eyes toward me, searching my face for the familiar, pliable woman he had controlled for four long years.

"You've... you've completely lost your senses today, haven't you, Sandra?" he choked out, raising an eyebrow in a desperate attempt at his usual condescending smirk.

"You slap me in public, you walk around making wild accusations, and now you throw a piece of paper at me like a petulant child?"

Beside him, Selena wasn't laughing. Her tissue hung limply between her fingers, her mouth slightly agape as her eyes darted frantically between Drake and the legal document. The triumphant arrogance she had worn at the restaurant was gone, replaced by the pale, unmistakable shadow of pure terror. She knew, better than anyone, where the family's source of wealth came from.

I didn't waste a single heartbeat on their theater. I lifted my arm, my eyes dropping to the glowing digital face of my watch.

1 hour and 20 minutes remaining.

"Sign it, Drake," I said, my voice dropping an octave, steady and merciless. "I don't have time to indulge your dramatic performance."

Veronica’s posture instantly shifted. Seeing that her initial anger hadn't shaken me, she pulled at the pearl necklace around her throat, her face instantly twisting into a sorrowful, trembling mask. Tears welled in the corners of her aging eyes with practiced ease—the very same emotional trap that used to send me rushing to her side with apologies, jewelries and herbal tea.

"Sandra, child..." Veronica sobbed quietly, taking a frail step toward me, her voice dripping with artificial warmth. "How can you do this to us? After everything we’ve done for you? We took you into our home when you had no one. We became your family! Whatever Drake did, whatever misunderstanding happened tonight, we can fix it as a family. Don't throw away your marriage over a moment of temper..."

I looked at her, my head tilted slightly, feeling nothing but a profound, icy emptiness in my chest.

"Are you genuinely apologetic, Veronica?" I asked softly, stepping closer until she flinched. "Or are you just terrified that your family is about to lose the only shelter you've spent the last three years bragging about to your friends? Or maybe... you're afraid of losing the only fool rich enough to bankroll your lifestyle and stupid enough to bear your precious grandchildren?"

"You ungrateful bitch!" Drake roared.

The mask broke. Drake lunged forward, his face flushed dark red, his right arm swinging back to deliver a backhand across my face.

I didn't blink. I didn't flinch. I stood my ground, my eyes locked on his with an unyielding, predatory calm.

His hand stopped inches from my cheek, trembling violently in mid-air. The memory of the slap at the restaurant—and the deadly threat I had whispered in his ear—hung heavy between us. He swallowed hard, his knuckles white, before slowly dropping his arm back to his side, his breath coming in ragged rasps.

"You speak so loudly for a barren orphan," Selena spat out, her voice sharp with sudden, vicious venom.

She stepped out from behind Drake, grabbing his arm and squeezing it until her manicured nails dug into his jacket. "Sign it, Drake! Sign the damn papers and let her leave! Let's see how long she lasts out there on her own! Who would ever want or accommodate a broken, childless orphan like her? She'll be on her knees begging you to take her back within a week!"

A barren orphan.

Those exact words used to be my prison. For four years, those very insults had kept me chained to this house, swallowing their emotional abuse, convincing myself that I owed them my life because they had given a lonely girl a family.

A sudden, sharp laugh burst from my chest. It echoed loudly against the marble floor, rich and full of genuine, unrestrained amusement.

Drake and Selena exchanged a bewildered, uneasy look as my laughter died down into a cold smile.

"Barren?" I murmured, fixing my eyes directly on Selena, whose sneer faltered under my gaze. "Is that what Drake told you? That I couldn't give him the heir he married me for?"

I turned my head toward Drake, watching the sudden flicker of confusion, and then rising panic in his eyes.

"I recently discovered your pathetic little agreement with your lover... Selena" I said quietly. "I know you and your family planned for me to bear a child first to secure this house before you quietly push me aside for Selena who you always lied to me was your sister. But did you really think I was that blind?"

Veronica’s hand flew to her chest, her fingers clutching her blouse over her heart. "What..."

"After I lost the baby last year to your brutality," I continued, each word delivered like a precise incision, "and saw the utter lack of grief in your eyes, Drake... I swore I would never bring a child into this house to be raised by a family of parasites. I’ve been on birth control every single day since then."

Silence hit the room like a physical blow.

Drake’s face drained of every ounce of color. His jaw dropped, his eyes wide in absolute, shattered disbelief.

Veronica gasped loudly, stumbling back two steps until her lower back hit the edge of the dining table, her mouth working silently as if she had forgotten how to breathe.

"You..." Drake stammered, his fingers trembling violently as he gripped the Manila folder. "You... you lied to me? For a whole year?!"

"I protected myself and my unborn children" I corrected coldly. "Now sign the paper."

Drake’s chest heaved. Anger, humiliation, and pride tore through his face. He grabbed the pen from the side table, snatched the document, and slammed it against the wall. With sharp, aggressive strokes, he scrawled his signature across the bottom line.

He thrust the papers back into my chest, his eyes burning with pure hatred. "Take it! Take your damn papers and get out! But don't you dare think you're taking a single penny from me! Not this house, not a single piece of furniture! And when you come crawling back, begging and starving, I will close the door right in your face!"

Before he could even finish his sentence, the world around me rippled again. The semi-transparent blue screen materialized right over his furious face, flashing with urgent light.

[QUEST MANDATE: STOCKPILE $10,000 IN RESOURCES]

[WARNING: TIME REMAINING — 01:04:12]

I grabbed the signed papers from his hands, turned on my heel, and sprinted up the stairs. I ignored their raised voices echoing from the living room. Throwing open the closet in the master bedroom, I grabbed a heavy black duffel bag and shoved a few sturdy outfits, my passport, and basic essentials inside.

I didn't touch the jewelry. I didn't touch the designer clothes he bought me with my savings whenever he wanted to try having another baby with me.

None of it would matter when the apocalypse arrived.

Thirty seconds later, I hit the front stairs, pulled the heavy oak door open, and slammed it behind me, leaving the shouting and the noise inside the tomb they had built for themselves.

I threw my bag into the back of a waiting cab I had called while running downstairs. "City Center, Harrison & Associates Law Firm. Fast."

As the cab pulled into the street, I pressed my phone to my ear. Mr. Harrison picked up on the second ring.

"Sandra? I have the inheritance deeds pulled up on my desk as requested," his formal voice rasped through the speaker. "Where are you?"

"I'm five minutes away, Mr. Harrison," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline surging through my blood. "Listen to me carefully. The residential estate—the house my in-laws are currently living in—I want it liquidated immediately. Sell it."

There was a brief pause on the line.

"Sandra, liquidating a prime residential asset on short notice usually takes weeks, if not—"

"I don't care about market value," I interrupted harshly. "I need the cash transferred directly into my primary account within the next fifteen minutes. Do you have any cash buyers on file?"

Mr. Harrison cleared his throat. "As a matter of fact... a foreign investment group reached out yesterday looking for a fully furnished luxury property for an immediate, high-profile staycation.

They offered five million dollars cash for an instant deed transfer, no inspection required. But Sandra, that house is worth at least—"

"Sell it," I commanded. "Have the contract ready the moment I walk through your door."

When the elevator doors opened on the twelfth floor of the law firm, my watch read 00:57:12.

Fifty-seven minutes.

I burst into Mr. Harrison’s corner office. The elderly lawyer stood up, startled by my disheveled hair and the fierce, unyielding look in my eyes. Without taking a seat, I laid the signed divorce papers on his mahogany desk and snatched the pen from his hand.

"Sign where I need to sign," I breathed out.

For the next eight minutes, paper rustled furiously. I signed deed after deed, release form after release form. As my pen flew across the final page—the transfer of my parents' billion dollar liquid trusts—I paused on a specific land title.

Duncan County Sector 4: 1,200 Acres of Mountainous Woodland.

My breath caught in my throat. In my past life, this was the exact terrain where I had carved my survival fortress—a massive, isolated valley surrounded by impenetrable granite cliffs.

It was already mine.

A sharp ping sounded from my handbag. I pulled out my phone.

A notification from my banking app illuminated the screen:

+ $5,000,000.00 USD (Wire Transfer Complete - Property Sale).

"Process the divorce immediately, Mr. Harrison," I said, slinging my duffel bag over my shoulder as I backed out of his office. "And whatever you do... do not answer any calls from Drake

I didn't wait for his response. I ran into the elevator, hit the lobby button, and pulled up my phone's map app.

The largest wholesale commercial supermarket in the city—a massive, double-story depot supplying the region's restaurants and hotel chains—was located just six blocks away.

As the elevator doors opened into the lobby, I pushed through the glass doors and plunged out into the night air, my heart hammering against my ribs like a caged beast.

I checked my wrist watch again and it was forty-nine minutes. Forty-nine minutes to buy ten thousand dollars worth of life, load it, and unlock the system before the clock ran out.

I tightened my grip on my bag and began to run.