Chapter 5

Evelyn's Pov

“You gave it to my assistant when you contacted the real estate agent about the property.”

That sounded plausible, which annoyed me because I had been hoping for an answer that would make sense of his messages.

“Were you outside my house just now?”

A brief silence followed.  “I was in the neighborhood.”

“That isn't what I asked.”

“Then ask a better question.”

I closed my eyes.

“Are you always this irritating, or do you reserve it for women you've frightened half to death?”

“I haven't frightened you half to death. You're still talking.”

I nearly threw the phone.

“Listen carefully, Mr. Cross. I have no idea who you are, why you keep sending me messages about a future you claim to know nothing about, or why you appear to be following me. If you want me to trust you, you're going to have to do better than mysterious warnings.”

“I agree.”

His calm response threw me off.

“You agree?”

“Yes. Which is why I'm telling you to check your bank account before your husband empties it.”

My stomach dropped and I looked at the laptop.

“How do you know about that?”

“I don't know the details of your finances, Evelyn. I know your husband has been moving money out of an account connected to your name.”

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“Who told you?”

“I can't disclose that.”

“Then don't expect me to believe you.”

“You don't have to believe me. Check the records.”

I swallowed the anger rising in my throat.

“I already have.”

“Good. Secure whatever money belongs to you, and don't confront him until you understand where the transfers went.”

“Why do you care?”

This time, he took a moment to answer.

“Because when the outbreak begins, money will buy you time. After that, it will buy you very little.”

The words sent a chill down my spine.

“Tell me what you know about the outbreak and infection.”

“I know the reports coming out of the hospitals are worse than the public has been told.”

“That's not enough.”

“It's what I can give you right now.”

I paced beside the bed. “You expect me to accept cryptic messages from a stranger and rearrange my entire life because he says the world is ending?”

“No. I expect you to look at what happened to you and decide whether you're willing to let it happen again.”

My blood turned cold.

“What did you just say?”

Silence.

Then Damien spoke, his voice quieter than before.

“Meet me tomorrow at ten. Bring your questions. I'll answer what I can.”

“And if I don't come?”

“Then you'll have to make your own decisions.”

He ended the call.

I stared at my phone, furious that he had once again managed to leave me with more questions than answers.

But I couldn't ignore what he had said about Ethan's transfers.

I returned to the banking records and searched the account details. The recipient's name wasn't visible, but the bank had provided a reference number. I saved it and made a note to contact customer support.

Then I opened a new spreadsheet and began dividing my money into three categories: property, supplies, and emergency reserves.

I wasn't going to spend everything I owned on canned food and solar panels. I needed a sustainable plan, and I needed to make sure I could access my funds if the banking system became unreliable.

By noon, I had called the real estate agent, confirmed that the property inspections were underway, and arranged a meeting with a contractor.

I also made a list of supplies to purchase gradually over the coming weeks.

Water storage… Filters….First-aid kits. Batteries. Shelf-stable food. A reliable generator… Tools….Protective clothing.

I would learn how to use a firearm safely, but I wouldn't buy one simply because I was afraid. Fear could make people reckless, and recklessness was expensive when survival was at stake.

For the first time since waking up, I felt something other than terror.

I had a plan.

It wasn't perfect, and I didn't know how much time I had left, but it was mine.

At two in the afternoon, Ethan returned home.

I heard his keys hit the counter, followed by the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing.

“Evelyn!”

I remained upstairs.“Evelyn, come down here!”

I saved my work before leaving the bedroom.

He stood in the kitchen holding his phone, his face twisted with anger.

“Did you change the password on your laptop?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because it's my laptop.”

He stared at me as if I had slapped him.

“I tried to access our financial spreadsheet, and it wouldn't let me in.”

“That's because it's saved under my personal account.”

“It's information about our household. I have a right to see it.”

“You have access to the joint account, Ethan. My personal accounts are not yours.”

His eyes narrowed.“What are you hiding?”

I almost laughed.

“You tell me. Why have you been transferring money out of our joint account?”

The color drained from his face.

For one beautiful second, I watched him struggle to find an excuse.

Then he recovered.“Those were business expenses.”

“Three transfers to the same account? Twelve thousand dollars in two weeks?”

“Yes.”

“Then show me the invoices.”

He scoffed. “I'm not going to stand here and justify every business transaction to you.”

“That’s Funny. You had no problem demanding that I explain a grocery bill for eighty dollars last month.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“Because you're my wife, Evelyn! We're supposed to work together.”

I stared at him. “Working together means telling me where our money is going. It doesn't mean you get to move thousands of dollars without explaining why.”

He slammed his phone onto the counter.

“You've changed.”

“No, Ethan. I have finally started paying attention.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“Whatever little game you're playing, stop it. I won't tolerate this behavior in my own home.”

I looked around the kitchen.

The countertops I had chosen. The curtains I had sewn myself. The dining table I had paid for when his business was struggling.

Then I looked back at him.

“Your own home?”

His jaw tightened.“Don't twist my words.”

“I'm not twisting anything. I'm asking you to remember that I helped pay for this house. You don't get to stand in a kitchen I helped build and speak to me as if I'm your employee.”

For a moment, neither of us moved.

Then his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, and I saw the name before he turned it facedown.

Vanessa.

“Answer it,” I said.

He looked at me sharply. “What?”

“Answer the phone, Ethan. Your sweetheart is calling.”

His expression changed so quickly that I almost smiled.

“You have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Then answer it and put it on speaker.”

“I'm not doing that.”

“Of course you aren't.”

I turned away. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

“To make a few phone calls. Something you should try before spending money you can't explain.”

I reached the stairs before he spoke again.

“You're going to regret treating me like this.”

I stopped and looked back at him.

“Maybe. But at least I'll regret something I chose for myself.”

I went upstairs and shut the door.

My hands were shaking.

I had expected the confrontation to feel satisfying, but anger and fear were tangled together inside me. I knew what Ethan was capable of when he felt threatened. I had seen the way he behaved when the world stopped giving him what he wanted.

I also knew that I couldn't spend the next three months fighting him over every dollar.

I needed distance.

I needed the property.

And I needed to know why Damien Cross seemed determined to keep me alive.

At ten the next morning, I would get some answers.

For now, I opened my laptop and continued planning.

At six that evening, someone knocked on the front door.

I froze.

The sound came again, three sharp knocks followed by a pause.

Ethan was upstairs taking a shower, and I was alone in the living room.

I checked the time.

6:17 p.m.

My phone vibrated. An unknown number had sent me a message.

‘Do not open the door.’

I stared at the screen.Then came another knock.

A woman's voice floated through the wood.

“Evelyn? Please, I need your help.”

My heart began pounding because I recognized that voice.

Vanessa.

“Evelyn, I know you're in there. Please open the door. It's important.”

I moved toward the entrance, then stopped when I noticed something strange through the narrow glass panel beside it.

Vanessa was standing on the porch, crying.

Her blouse was stained with blood.