Semua Bab 90 Days Before The Apocalypse I Chose Revenge : Bab 1 - Bab 5

​The cold didn’t just freeze my skin—it crushed my bones.​In my final moments, I couldn’t feel my hands. I couldn’t feel my feet. The temperature inside the abandoned shelter had plummeted to sixty below zero, and every shallow breath leaving my lungs turned to shards of ice before hitting the concrete floor.​Through cracked, frosted eyelashes, I forced myself to look up at the two people huddled around the small battery-powered heater. It was the last heat source left in a dead world.​"Please..." My voice came out as a ragged, agonizing scrape. "Just... ten minutes near the coils. My legs..."​Julian didn't even turn around. My fiancé—the man whose business empire I had built with my own sweat, capital, and family connections—simply pulled his down jacket tighter around his shoulders. The high-grade thermal coat I had bought for him with my last remaining savings.​"There's only enough power left for two people, Evie," Julian said smoothly. His tone was utterly devoid of the warmt

​The industrial district of the northern port smelled of ozone, scorching asphalt, and hot metal.​While high society downtown melted under the 112-degree heat, workers along the concrete docks were already stripping off their shirts, complaining about the strange, heavy static hanging in the air. On the radio in my SUV, another broadcast crackled through the speakers:​"...meteorologists remain baffled by the rapid magnetic flux registered along the northern tectonic line. While temperatures break historic highs, atmospheric pressure readings are dropping at rates usually reserved for Category 5 hurricanes..."​I parked outside the rusted iron gates of Vanguard Tactical & Armored Construction.​In my past life, four weeks into the apocalyptic freeze, rumors had circulated among dying survivors about a subterranean fortress cut deep into the granite of Mount Sentinel. It was a self-sustaining eco-bunker built by a secretive military defense contractor—equipped with deep-well filtratio

​The scorching heat wave showed no sign of breaking. By 6:00 PM on Friday, the temperature sat at a suffocating 109 degrees, heavy with oppressive static. Rolling brownouts had already killed the power in two lower-income districts downtown, leaving thousands of people sweltering in concrete apartment blocks.​I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my dressing room, adjusting my clothes with cold, trembling fingers.​I wore a plain, high-necked pale pink dress—modest and harmless. My eyes were still slightly red and puffy, my skin pale from the lingering phantom ache of minus sixty degrees that still burned deep inside my chest.​Tonight was the dinner at the family manor—the grand home my late father built, now occupied by my stepmother Beatrice, Clara, and Clara's grandfather, Victor Laurent, the retired high court judge who held absolute sway over our family’s legal affairs.​They were waiting for me. They believed tonight was the night I would hand over the Mount Sentinel t