chapter 4

Serena POV

"Serena, please. You have to understand. We need the money."

My mother’s voice trembled through the receiver, dripping with the practiced, weaponized desperation she had used to control me my entire life.

I sat at my mahogany desk in the quiet sanctuary of my study, the glow of my monitor illuminating the endless lists of supplies, coordinates, and delivery manifests. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, calculating bulk logistics for medical gear and non-perishables. Every dollar, every second, mattered.

"Then find a way to get it," I replied, my voice chillingly flat.

A sharp intake of breath hissed through the speaker.

"What did you just say to me?"

"You heard me, Mom. I don't have money to hand out."

"How dare you speak to me like that?!" Her voice pitched upward, screeching with immediate, self-righteous fury. "I brought you into this world! I am your mother!"

I closed my eyes and let out a slow, steady breath.

Here it comes.

In my past life, those exact words would have shattered my resolve instantly. A suffocating wave of guilt would have choked my throat, forcing me to empty my accounts, apologize profusely, and cater to their endless demands. I had swallowed the lie that a "good daughter" was one who sacrificed her own well-being to feed her family's bottomless pit of entitlement.

And how did they repay that lifetime of devotion?

When the world burned, they didn't offer me shelter. They didn't share their rations. They stripped my apartment down to the bare walls, took my emergency cache, cursed me for being a burden, and left me out in the cold to be torn apart by monsters.

Why on earth should I care about a debt that was paid in blood and betrayal?

"Serena, are you even listening to me?!" my mother barked, snapping me back to the present.

"I'm listening."

"Your sister is finally home!"

"I know."

"Then why aren't you crying tears of joy? Lisa has finally returned after all these years of agonizing pain, and you sound as cold as stone!"

I stared up at the ceiling, a bitter, humourless smile touching my lips.

Of course Lisa was back. The golden child. The precious sister whose mysterious disappearance years ago had turned me into the permanent scapegoat of the household, the girl whose absence justified every harsh word, every cruel comparison, and every emotional punishment my mother dealt out.

For years, I had apologized for things that weren't my fault, just to earn a shred of maternal warmth. Now, Lisa had magically reappeared, and I was expected to play the dutiful, cash-dispensing servant to celebrate her return.

"Serena!" my mother shrieked. "Did you lose your mind? Send us the money immediately! Lisa needs a wardrobe, a car, a fresh start, and we can't do any of it without your support!"

I checked the corner of my monitor. Only six days left.

Every minute wasted arguing with a narcissist was a minute stolen from my survival.

"I'm broke," I said evenly.

Before she could draw breath to scream another accusation, I tapped the red button and ended the call.

I immediately blocked her number, slamming the door on the suffocating guilt that tried to claw its way back into my chest.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I whispered into the empty room, feeling not an ounce of remorse. "Actually... no, I'm not. Because this time, I'm saving myself."

The Retail Arsenal

I stood up, grabbing my keys and coat. I turned to my phone and dialed my two domestic staff members.

"Get your coats. We're going shopping."

"Right away, ma'am!"

Within twenty minutes, my sleek SUV was slicing through the afternoon traffic, heading straight toward the city's largest hyper-market warehouse. I had a mental checklist of survival assets that would make a paranoid prepper look casual, and I intended to clear the shelves.

When the apocalypse hit, paper currency would become worthless toilet paper. Gold and diamonds couldn't fill an empty stomach. The only true kings of the new world would be food, water, medicine, and steel.

We parked near the loading docks. I stepped out, smoothing my coat, my eyes sharp.

"Let's move."

We swept into the sprawling superstore like an invading army. I headed straight for the dry-goods aisles.

"Grab rice," I ordered crisply, gesturing to towering pallets of grain. "As much as they have."

One of my maids blinked in utter bewilderment. "How many bags, ma'am?"

"All of them."

She stared at me, her jaw slack. "All of them?"

"Did I stutter?"

"N-No, ma'am!"

"Good. Then get to work."

I bypassed polite shopping carts entirely, requisitioning large industrial flatbed trolleys. We piled them high with fifty-pound sacks of jasmine rice, black beans, unbleached flour, pasta, mountain ranges of canned tuna, beef stew, condensed milk, powdered eggs, cooking oil, salt, and sugar.

When the food section was thoroughly plundered, I marched us straight to the pharmacy aisle.

"Painkillers, broad-spectrum antibiotics, insulin, burn ointments, heavy-duty antiseptics, gauze rolls, surgical sutures, syringes, disinfectants, and first-aid kits," I instructed the trembling clerk behind the counter, rattling off a medical inventory that sounded like a warzone triage unit. "I want every box you have in stock."

The clerk stared at me, pale-faced. "Ma'am... are you opening a field hospital?"

I pinned her with a cold, unblinking glare that dropped the temperature in the aisle by ten degrees. "Do you require a medical license to sell these items to me, or are you just wasting my time?"

She swallowed hard, her hands shaking as she began boxing up the inventory. "N-No, ma'am! Right away!"

Next came the survival gear: waterproof matches, military-grade flashlights, thousands of lithium batteries, portable solar generators, heavy canvas tarps, thick winter blankets, industrial-strength bleach, hygiene products, and crates of soap.

Every time our carts became too full to push, I casually stepped into a secluded corner, mentally activated my spatial storage void, and watched entire pallets vanish into nothingness in the blink of an eye.

To the store employees trailing behind us, it looked like a logistical miracle—or an eccentric billionaire preparing a doomsday bunker. Let them whisper. When the sky fell, they would be starving while I dined like a queen.

The Prophetic Storm

As we pushed our mountains of supplies toward the checkout registers, a store manager rushed over, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Excuse me, miss! Is there an event you're catering? We've never had a single customer buy out our entire stock of non-perishables like this!"

I paused, looking at the stunned faces of the cashiers and shoppers gathering around. A strange, reckless impulse flickered in my chest. I couldn't save everyone—most people wouldn't believe me anyway—but humanity demanded I drop at least a single warning into the wind.

I raised my voice so the entire front of the store could hear.

"Everyone here!" I called out, my voice ringing clear and authoritative. "Listen to me! Stock up on food, water, and medicine right now! Do not wait until tomorrow! Fill your pantries while you still can!"

For a stunned second, the supermarket fell dead silent.

Then, a man near the register barked out a harsh laugh.

"What is wrong with this lady? Is she auditioning for a sci-fi movie?"

A woman nearby chuckled, shaking her head. "Must be some kind of viral internet prank. People will do anything for attention these days."

"Too much money and zero brains," another customer muttered, turning back to their cart.

More laughter rippled through the crowd. They mocked me, shaking their heads at the crazy woman shouting about disasters on a sunny afternoon.

I didn't blink. I didn't argue. I simply looked at their smiling, ignorant faces with profound pity.

Laugh while you can, I thought bitterly. In six days, those smiles will turn into screams of terror.

"Finish loading the cars," I instructed my stunned maids, ignoring the giggling onlookers.

We wheeled the final boxes out into the vast asphalt parking lot. The afternoon sun was bright, casting long shadows across the pavement. My maids began hoisting the heavy crates into the trunk, when suddenly, the atmosphere shifted with terrifying violence.

A monstrous gust of wind slammed across the parking lot.

It wasn't a normal breeze. It was a howling, freezing gale that tore loose wrappers into the air, whipped my hair across my face, and forced me to stagger sideways.

"Whoa!" one of my maids cried out, dropping a box as she fought to keep her balance.

I threw my arms out, my heel catching on a slick patch of oil on the asphalt. My ankle twisted beneath me, sending a sharp jolt of pain up my leg.

I'm going down—

Before I hit the concrete, a pair of strong, iron-grip arms banded around my waist, yanking me backward with effortless strength and pressing me hard against a broad, solid chest.

My breath caught.

A rich, intoxicating scent of rain, cedar, and raw masculine power filled my senses.

"Watch your step, young lady," a deep, resonant voice rumbled right beside my ear, vibrating through the cold air.

My heart hammered against my ribs—not out of fear of falling, but from the sudden, electric jolt of the contact. I slowly tilted my head back.

A tall man stood towering over me, his arm still firmly locked around my waist to steady me. His dark, wind-tossed hair framed a face of breathtaking, chiseled perfection—sharp jawline, piercing dark eyes that seemed to hold the weight of a coming storm, and an aura of quiet, lethal authority.

For a fraction of a second, the roaring wind vanished. The parking lot faded away.

I stared into his eyes, a strange, phantom ache echoing in my soul. There was something impossibly familiar about him, a profound gravity that tugged at the very edges of my memory, though I couldn't place where I had ever seen him in my past life.

He looked down at me, his gaze intense, unblinking, and entirely unreadable.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low.

I snapped out of my trance, heat flushing my cheeks. I forcefully stepped back, breaking his hold, and hastily smoothed down my coat.

"I'm fine. Thank you," I muttered defensively, refusing to look weak. "I would have caught myself."

A single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched upward. A faint, knowing smirk touched the corner of his lips.

"Of course. That's why you were about to crack your skull open on the asphalt."

I shot him a withering, dagger-sharp glare. "I didn't ask for your commentary, stranger."

"And I certainly didn't plan on catching a falling hurricane," he shot back smoothly.

My mouth dropped open. What an infuriatingly arrogant man!

Before I could unleash a scathing retort, another violent, bone-chilling gust of wind howled across the lot, carrying the distinct, metallic scent of ozone and approaching decay.

The man stopped smiling.

His dark eyes abruptly darted upward, scanning the sky. The amusement vanished from his features, replaced by a sudden, razor-sharp alertness that sent a shiver straight down my spine.

I followed his gaze to the heavens.

In a matter of seconds, the bright blue sky had been violently swallowed. Pitch-black, bruised-purple clouds were rolling in at unnatural speeds, choking out the sun like a dying ember. The air pressure plummeted instantly, making my ears pop.

An instinctual, primal terror prickled the hairs on the back of my neck.

I knew the apocalypse was coming—I had lived it. But looking at the sky, and looking at the man beside me, a terrifying realization slammed into my chest: The timeline was accelerating.

The man lowered his gaze, locking his piercing eyes onto mine one last time. His voice dropped to a low, urgent command.

"Go home."

I frowned, caught off guard. "What?"

"Whatever you're doing—whatever you're hoarding, whatever you're running from—stop, get inside, and lock your doors," he warned, his voice carrying an undeniable weight of command. "Something is coming. The world is about to change."

My breath hitched.

Did he know? Did he share my secret? Was he another soul dragged back through the abyss of time?

I opened my lips to question him, to demand who he was, but before I could utter a single syllable, he turned sharply on his heel.

Without another word, he strode toward a sleek, matte-black armored vehicle idling near the exit. He pulled open the door, slid inside, and threw a final, lingering glance back at me through the tinted window.

Vroom.

The engine roared to life with a deep, predatory growl, and the car vanished into the swirling dust and gathering gloom of the dying afternoon.

I stood frozen in the center of the parking lot, the wind whipping my coat around my legs, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

One of my maids hurried over, clutching her jacket tight against the sudden chill. "Madam! The car is fully loaded! We need to leave, this weather is terrifying!"

I slowly tore my eyes away from the empty road where the black car had vanished.

I turned back to my SUV, climbed into the passenger seat, and looked out the window as the first heavy, unnatural drops of rain began to splatter against the glass.

The sky was bleeding black.

The countdown had begun.

And as I clenched my fists in the dark interior of the car, a fierce, unbreakable resolve burned through my veins.

Let the storms come. Let the dead rise. Let the traitors cower in their fear.

This time, Serena was ready for the end of the world.