Chapter 2

After leaving the hospital, I narrowed my eyes against the sun glare.

Julian had owned the penthouse before we got married, but my name had been added to the title. Before the transfer went through, I still had plenty of time to use that hole.

I contacted a loan broker who had spent years skirting the edge of the law.

Some time later, I met up with the broker. I slid a copy of the title across the table with a firm tone. "A 3,200-square-foot penthouse downtown, worth more than two million in the market. I only want eight hundred thousand, paid today."

The broker looked at me, his eyes lighting up. "You really are quite decisive. But the interest..."

"Use your highest rate. I don't care," I cut in.

Julian would be the one paying it back anyway. No matter how high the interest climbed, it had nothing to do with me.

Aside from mortgaging the penthouse, I maxed out every credit card in my name and borrowed the highest amount I could from dozens of online lenders.

In just a day and a half, I pulled together nearly one million in cash.

All those debts that would usually be enough to destroy families were left tied to the penthouse and Julian's name.

After I secured the funds, I found a top security company.

While Julian took Jessica to a high-end restaurant to celebrate his "freedom," I brought the workers into the penthouse. I said, "The main bedroom, living room, kitchen, hallway, and bathroom. Cover every blind spot."

I pointed to each corner and ordered them around.

The workers installed more than a dozen tiny pinhole cameras with backup power using "smart wiring maintenance" as an excuse. The cameras record in high-resolution, had access to night vision, and audio recording.

When the zombie apocalypse arrived, I wanted to watch every angle of that shameless couple's desperate struggle without missing a thing.

After taking care of that, I drove straight to the countryside.

In my previous life, I had heard about an underground air raid bunker halfway up a hill on the edge of the city. It had once belonged to a tycoon who had gone bankrupt. I spent a fortune to get the broker talking and signed a ten-year lease.

When I pushed open the bunker's heavy titanium reinforced blast door, my heart finally settled.

This place was practically built for the apocalypse.

It covered 5,400 square feet and had an independent ventilation system, a deep underground well, a large solar generator system, and even a temperature-controlled hydroponic greenhouse.

For the next forty-eight hours, I became a machine. I bought out the warehouses of three large supermarkets. Fifty bags of premium grains of all kinds, thirty bags of flour, two hundred cases of assorted canned meat, one hundred cases of dried vegetables, and fifty cases of high-calorie chocolate and emergency ration bars. For drinking water, I ordered five hundred jugs and had them moved into the bunker, along with ten high-powered water purifiers.

Aside from food, medicine would become the rarest hard currency in the zombie apocalypse. I cleaned out five pharmacies, buying antibiotics, anti-inflammatory medicine, fever medicine, painkillers, and all kinds of first-aid kits and surgical tools.

Finally, I made a trip to the black market and got three military-grade compound crossbows, several thousand steel bolts, two machetes, and a stab-resistant suit.

When the last batch of supplies had been moved into the bunker, the reinforced blast door slowly closed.

I collapsed onto the couch and let out a long sigh of relief. At that moment, the giant screen on the wall lit up.

On-screen, Julian and Jessica were carrying bags of luxuries into the penthouse, both of them smiling with satisfaction.

"Julian, that old woman is finally gone! This place is ours now!" Jessica threw herself into Julian's arms without the slightest shame as she giggled.

Julian wrapped an arm around her waist, his eyes full of greed and smugness. "That's because she's stupid. Once I sell this place, I'll take you overseas and get you a proper kidney. Then we can live a proper life together."

I sat safely in the bunker, casually wiping the cold, sharp blade of the machete in my hand. As I watched that shameless couple on-screen dreaming about the future, I could not help laughing out loud.

There were twelve hours left on the countdown.