Chapter 4

Flora 

The dining room table at the Spencer estate was set with sterling silver and crystal glasses. 

Holland sat across from me, his thumb casually rubbing the stem of his wine glass. His father sat at the head of the table, dabbing his mouth with a linen napkin before setting down a thick, blue leather folder.

"Flora," his father began, offering a warm, paternal smile that made my stomach turn. "Holland mentioned you have been looking for a secure way to grow your family trust fund. We have an exclusive investment opportunity—a prime commercial real estate development in the central district. If you sign over your liquid assets to Holland tonight, we can secure the primary shares before the market opens tomorrow."

I looked at the folder, then at Holland. He gave me a gentle, reassuring nod, his eyes full of fake affection. In my past life, I would have signed the paper without reading a single word.

Instead, I set my fork down with a quiet clink.

"It is funny you bring that up, Father," I said, leaning back in my chair and smoothing my skirt. "I have actually been working on a project of my own over the last few days. I was planning to tell you both tonight."

Holland blinked, caught slightly off guard. "Your own project?"

"A proxy fund structure," I said, keeping my tone light, airy, and entirely innocent. "I consulted a private wealth manager yesterday. By funneling our combined capital through an offshore proxy scheme, we bypass the standard tax brackets and multiply the yields. Based on the projected dividends, it will generate a sixty percent return within three weeks."

Holland’s father straightened in his chair. "Sixty percent?"

"Yes," I lied, smiling softly. "And the best part is, sixty percent goes directly back to you and Holland. I am locking the remaining forty percent into a blind trust for Annabel’s future medical care, so none of us can touch it prematurely."

Holland exchanged a quick, hungry glance with his father. Sixty percent guaranteed profit in less than a month was an absurd figure—one that any competent investor would immediately red flag. But they did not question it. They were so blinded by their own arrogance, so utterly convinced that I was a naive, desperate wife desperate to hold onto her husband, that they did not see the trap closing around them.

"That... sounds extraordinarily lucrative, Flora," his father said, trying and failing to hide the greed in his voice.

"If we pool everything we have together under my account, the proxy can execute the trades by tomorrow morning," I added, looking at Holland with wide, trusting eyes. "What do you think, darling?"

"I think it is brilliant," Holland said quickly, practically salivating at the thought of a fast payout. "Let us do it."

Within forty eight hours, Holland liquidated every single asset he could touch. He emptied his private bank accounts, sold off his corporate shares at a discount, and signed over the titles of his personal properties into my account to maximize the proxy pool. Combined with my own family inheritance, the numbers on my bank statement ballooned.

I opened my system interface in private.

[Target 2 Completed: $100,000,000 Acquired!]

[Target 3 Unlocked: Establish a Secure Fortress and Stockpile Essential Supplies for the Outbreak!]

The moment the funds cleared, I packed a single suitcase and booked a private flight. When I told Holland I needed to travel out of state for a series of high level proxy meetings, he did not raise a single objection. He was more than happy to have me out of his hair while he waited for the fake returns to hit his bank account. I brought Annabel along with me, keeping her close so I could monitor her recovery every second.

The jet engines hummed smoothly as we coasted above the clouds.

Annabel lay on the plush leather berth beside me, her small breathing steady and peaceful, though she was still sleeping off the lingering effects of the blood transfusion.

I sat in the captain's chair, tapping the system interface floating in front of me. I pulled up Holland's live feed.

The screen flickered to life. Holland was standing in his corner office, a bottle of champagne open on his desk. His secretary was sitting on the edge of the mahogany table, swinging her legs as Holland wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Just a couple more weeks," Holland laughed, pulling her closer. "Once Flora's proxy deal clears, we will be swimming in more cash than we can spend in a lifetime. As soon as the money hits, I am filing the divorce papers. You will not have to hide in this office anymore."

"You are terrible," the secretary giggled, running her hands through his hair before pressing her lips against his.

I swiped my hand across the air, shutting off the screen.

A cold, bitter satisfaction settled deep in my chest. I clenched my fist until my nails bit into my palm. Holland had no idea that every penny he owned had been funneled into untraceable offshore accounts and real estate holdings under my name. He was not sitting on a goldmine; he was currently the brokest man on the face of the earth.

When the apocalypse struck in less than a month, his useless paper contracts and empty bank accounts would not save him. He would end up freezing in the dirt, begging at my feet for a single crumb of bread.

"Mummy?"

A tiny, raspy voice broke the silence of the cabin.

I spun around, my heart leaping into my throat. Annabel’s dark eyes were open, blinking slowly up at the bright cabin lights.

"Annabel!" I rushed to her side, collapsing onto my knees beside the berth and taking her tiny, warm hand in mine. Tears blurred my vision as I kissed her forehead over and over. "Oh, sweetie, Mummy is right here. You are safe."

We landed in the coastal city of S City a few hours later. Using a fraction of the liquidated fortune, I had quietly purchased a massive, secluded estate nestled on a high ridge overlooking the valley—a heavily fortified mansion with reinforced concrete walls and deep underground storage vaults.

Over the next three weeks, I threw myself into preparations.

While the city bustled around us in blissfully ignorant peace, I went on a relentless shopping spree. I bought out entire wholesale food warehouses, ordering tons of canned meats, grain, dried fruit, bottled water, medical supplies, and fuel. Local stall owners and distributors stared at me in absolute bewilderment as flatbed trucks hauled massive containers of non perishable goods up the mountain road to my estate, wondering what kind of crazy woman needed enough rations to feed a small army.

Between shipments, I spent every waking second with Annabel. I hired private tutors, bought her custom wardrobes, and transformed the mansion's wing into a sprawling indoor playground. I made sure she lived like a princess, spoiling her with everything she had been deprived of in our past life.

Twenty nine days passed in a blur of frantic preparation. Exactly one day remained before the system countdown hit zero.

I was standing in a high end department store in the city center, supervising workers as they loaded boxes of soft plush toys, board games, and winter coats into a transport van. My system clock was glowing faintly in the corner of my eye:

[Countdown to Outbreak: 18 Hours, 12 Minutes, 04 Seconds]

My phone suddenly exploded with a loud, frantic ringtone. I swiped the screen and brought it to my ear.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Spencer!" the nanny’s voice shrieked over the line, hyperventilating so hard I could barely hear her over the background noise. "Mrs. Spencer, please help! I only turned my back for a second while unloading the delivery she was right there on the lawn!"

My heart stopped dead in my chest. "What are you talking about? Where is Annabel?"

"She is gone, ma'am!" the nanny sobbed hysterically. "Annabel is missing!"