REBORN 7 DAYS BEFORE MY BILLIONAIRE HUSBAND LEFT ME TO DIE

On the day the world ended, my husband locked me on the balcony to die so he could save his first love.

My name is Elena Voss. Three hours ago, the virus hit Raven City. The dead came back to eat the living.

My husband Damian Reid, billionaire CEO of Reid Group, built a bunker under our mansion that can survive ten years. He pushed me out of it.

"Damian! Open the door!" I screamed, banging the bulletproof glass. Blood was on my dress. My voice was raw, my throat bleeding from screaming for the last hour.

Inside the bunker, he was holding Bianca Croft. His first love. His secretary. She was pretending to cry, her face buried in his expensive suit. Her belly was swollen. Five months pregnant. She kept rubbing it like a trophy.

"Elena, stop being dramatic," Damian said coldly, not even looking at my eyes. His voice was the same voice that whispered I love you on our wedding night. "Bianca is pregnant. She needs the bunker more than you. Wait outside, rescue will come. Don't be selfish."

Selfish? I almost laughed. Blood was dripping from my forehead where I had hit the railing trying to escape the dead downstairs. My best friend Mia was dead on the first floor, torn apart because I told her to come to our mansion for safety. Because I trusted my husband.

No rescue was coming. He knew that. The news had stopped an hour ago. The military base was overrun. We saw it on the bunker monitors.

"Damian, please! It's our anniversary! Three years today! You promised! You promised my father you would protect me!" I sobbed, my hands slipping on the glass with my own blood and sweat.

My father had given him his company. My father trusted him. And now I was going to die because of that trust.

He finally looked at me, and his eyes were dead. No love. No guilt. Nothing.

"You were never supposed to be my wife, Elena. You were a business deal. Bianca is my real family now."

Behind me, I heard them. Growls. Low, guttural, hungry growls. Three zombies had climbed onto our second-floor balcony. Their flesh was rotting, their eyes white, their jaws snapping. They smelled my blood. They smelled fear.

I turned back and banged harder. My fists were bleeding now. "Damian! PLEASE! DON'T LEAVE ME! PLEASE!"

He didn't even flinch. He pressed a button on the wall. The steel outer door of the bunker, three inches thick, started to close with a hydraulic hiss, sealing him and Bianca inside, leaving me outside in the apocalypse with the dead.

Bianca looked at me over his shoulder as the door closed. She wasn't crying anymore. She smiled. A small, victorious, cruel smile. She mouthed two words: "He's mine."

The door slammed shut. Locked.

The last thing I felt was teeth sinking into my shoulder. Sharp, tearing pain. Then my neck. Then my arms. They pulled me down. I screamed until my throat was torn out.

I died on my third wedding anniversary, eaten alive on my own balcony while my husband hugged another woman inside our $20 million bunker.

I died loving a man who never loved me.

---

I woke up choking, but not from blood.

From perfume. My own perfume. Chanel No. 5.

I sat up violently, gasping, my hands grabbing my neck. No teeth marks. No blood. My skin was smooth. My white silk pajamas were clean.

I was in our bedroom. In our mansion. The silk sheets were clean. No blood on the floor. No zombies outside the window. The city lights of Raven City were bright and normal, cars moving, people alive.

Was it a nightmare?

Then I saw the calendar on the wall. Big red letters. June 12. And a note in my own handwriting: "Anniversary Dinner - 3 Years - Don't forget cake!"

My hands were shaking so hard I dropped the phone. I grabbed it again.

The date on the screen: June 12, 2025. 6:32 AM.

Seven days before the apocalypse. Seven days before Damian locked me out to die.

I wasn't dreaming. I was reborn. God gave me seven days.

Downstairs, I heard his voice. Damian's voice, laughing. And Bianca's fake, high-pitched giggle. The same giggle from my death day.

"Elena? Are you up there? Bianca needs her folic acid and imported strawberries. Go to the pharmacy before 8 AM. And don't be late again," he shouted from downstairs, his voice commanding, like I was his maid, not his wife.

The same exact words he said in my last life, the morning before everything ended. Word for word.

This time, I didn't answer. I didn't cry. I smiled. A cold smile I never knew I had.

I walked to the closet, opened the safe that only I knew the code to - the safe that held the deed to the bunker, the $20 million in emergency cash Damian stored for Bianca's future, and the master key card that could open the bunker from outside.

In my last life, I died a foolish, loving wife who waited for rescue.

In this life, I will be the one who watches him kneel in blood and beg outside my door.

First step: Empty his bunker. Second step: Divorce him and take everything. Third step: Find the one man Damian Reid fears more than the apocalypse itself.

I picked up my phone with steady hands and dialed a number I had memorized from a black business card I once threw away in fear.

Killian Thorne. Mafia heir. Owner of half of Raven City. The man who lives in the black mansion next door that everyone avoids.

My text was simple: "Mr. Thorne, I have a $20M deal and information that will save your life in 7 days. I need your bunker. Tonight."

He replied in 30 seconds: "My door is open, Mrs. Reid. Come now. Alone. I have been waiting for you."

I looked at the bedroom door, hearing Damian's footsteps coming upstairs, angry that I didn't answer.

"Goodbye, Damian," I whispered. "This time, you die outside."