CHAPTER 2

He wore a nice gray suit and held a box of pastries. He walked over, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.

​It was the exact same hand. The same fingers that had used the wrench on her knuckles.

​A massive shock of adrenaline hit Vivian's system. Her vision blurred, the nice room flashing back to the freezing water of the docks. Her lungs felt like they were filling with salt again. Everything inside her screamed to take the sharp metal letter opener on the desk and shove it into his neck.

​Instead, she hid her hands behind her back and dug her fingernails into her palms until she broke the skin. The pain woke her up.

​"Marcus," she whispered, making her voice shake. She stepped back, pretending to wipe a tear so he couldn't touch her. "I had a terrible nightmare last night. Everything was flooding. It felt so real."

​Marcus paused, a tiny flash of annoyance crossing his face before his fake, sweet smile returned.

​"It’s just stress from the funeral, sweetie," he said, stepping closer and grabbing her shoulders tightly. It felt like a hug, but his grip was heavy and controlling. "But speaking of things that cause stress... my phone just alerted me. Vivian, did you seriously just put a five-million-dollar down payment on a coastal house? Publicly?"

​Vivian let her head fall against his chest, hiding the look of pure hatred in her eyes. She made her body go totally soft.

​"I’m just so scared, Marcus," she lied into his suit jacket. "The news keeps talking about these massive freak storms. I wanted a fortress. Somewhere strong with thick glass where we could go if things go crazy. Did I mess up?"

​She felt Marcus's muscles relax. She felt his greed spike. He didn't think she was smart; he thought she was a stupid rich girl who had just bought him a playground.

​"No, honey," Marcus said, his voice turning into that soft, slimy tone he used when he wanted something. "You didn't mess up. You just should have asked me first. A big place like that needs security. Let me handle the paperwork. I’ll move my security guys in there tomorrow to start setting it up for us. Oh, and Vivian... what about your dad's main trust? Did the lawyers figure out that lock yet?"

​There it was. He couldn't help himself.

​"The bank called," Vivian said, looking up at him with wide, lying eyes. "They said my fingerprints aren't enough. There’s a physical key somewhere. But I don't know where my dad hid it."

​"It’s okay," Marcus whispered, kissing her head. Vivian bit her tongue hard to keep from gagging. "We'll find it. Just focus on the villa for now. Give me the master codes to the security system so I can run the upgrades. Okay?"

​"Okay," she whispered. "Whatever you think is best. I trust you."

​Ten minutes later, Marcus left. He was already talking on his phone before the elevator arrived, probably telling his guys to take over the coastal property.

​Vivian stood alone in the quiet apartment. The trap was set. Marcus would spend the next month moving his money, his friends, and his supplies into a glass cage right on the cliffs—the exact place where a sixty-foot wave would hit first. He would drown in the house he thought he stole from her.

​But she had to secure her own life now. The villa was just a distraction.

​She grabbed her keys, the laptop, and the journal. She put on a thick coat and left, leaving her apartment keys on the counter.

​She spent the afternoon driving to the old industrial side of town, a place full of rusted trains and empty factories. Following a map in the back of the journal, she parked near a broken fence at an old transit yard.

​The air felt thick and smelled like sulfur and hot iron—the exact signs that came before the sky broke in her past life.

​She found the entrance to an underground warehouse hidden behind a concrete wall. It took thirty minutes of hard, painful work to force the rusted lock open with a crowbar. Her hands were covered in blisters, but she didn't stop. With a loud screech, the metal door gave way.

​Vivian turned on her flashlight. The beam hit rows of heavy crates sealed in thick plastic. She sliced one open with her knife.

​Inside were tons of survival food, water filters, solar radios, and boxes of ammo. A real bunker. Deep underground, completely safe from floods.

​"Mine," she said.

​She spent hours organizing crates and checking the backup generator. By 02:00 AM, her entire body ached, but she felt a massive surge of victory.

​She climbed back up the stairs to lock the main door for the night. But as she stepped out into the dark, rainy air, her body froze.

​The crowbar dropped from her hands, hitting the dirt with a loud clang.

​A man was leaning against an old train car ten yards away. He wore a heavy black coat, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his collar pulled up against the rain.

​Julian Cross.

​His shoulder was perfectly fine under his coat. No blood, no scars, no pain. He looked completely calm and completely in control. But his eyes were fixed on her, and they were freezing cold.

​"Well, well," Julian said, his voice low and dry, thick with sarcasm. "Look what we have here. The great Vivian Vance, digging around in the dirt like a homeless person. Did your luxury store close, or did you finally realize Marcus's suits are cheap?"

​Vivian couldn't breathe. Her heart raced. In her past life, Julian hadn't shown up until she was literally dying. Now, he was standing in her way on the very first night.

​Julian took a slow step forward, looking past her toward the glowing light of the bunker entrance. His smirk disappeared, replaced by something sharp and dangerous.

​"You've been busy today, Vivian," he said, stepping right up to her. "But you made a massive mistake. You used your dad's old logistics codes to find this place. My family’s computers have been watching those codes since the day your dad's plane crashed."

​He reached into his pocket, but he didn't pull a gun. He pulled out a small silver metal cylinder—a physical key with both of their family crests stamped on the bottom.

​The missing piece of her inheritance.

​Julian leaned in close, his voice dropping to a low whisper against the wind. "Now, tell me why a rich girl who only cares about clothes is breaking into a hidden military bunker. Or should I just call your perfect boyfriend and ask him?"

The silver key caught the dim light of the city. It looked small in Julian’s hand, but to Vivian, it looked like a loaded gun pointed straight at her chest.

​The rain was coming down harder now, drumming loudly against the metal of the old train car. The cold water soaked right through Vivian’s shirt, revealing her bra, but she didn’t care. Her brain was moving too fast, clearing away the shock and replacing it with pure calculation.

​He has the key. He’s had it this whole time.