All Chapters of 90 Days Before The Apocalypse I Chose Revenge : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

​The air in the subterranean parking garage of Vance-Vanguard Capital was stagnant, reeking of gasoline fumes and hot concrete.​I sat behind the wheel of my SUV, my hands locked onto the leather grip until my knuckles turned chalk-white. Every breath coming into my chest felt ragged, burning my throat. My face was still stiff with dried tears, and my right wrist throbbed beneath its hidden compression wrap—a dull, constant reminder of Julian’s grip outside the jeweler's shop.​Down on the floorboards, my left foot burned like it was on fire. I pulled off my shoe, peeling back my blood-soaked sock to reveal the torn, angry red blister on my heel.​I didn't scream. I didn't cry anymore. I simply pulled a fresh piece of gauze from my purse, wrapped it tightly around the raw flesh, and forced my swollen foot back into the shoe.​My phone buzzed on the passenger seat.​I picked it up with trembling fingers. The screen displayed a notification from my primary bank app, followed immediately

​The glass-and-steel monolith of Vance-Vanguard Capital hovered over downtown like a black knife cutting through the thick, amber haze of the sunset. By 6:00 PM, the city’s heat had not softened; it had merely settled into a dense, stifling humidity that smelled of burnt insulation and overheating air conditioning units.​I parked my SUV in the visitor bay of the firm’s executive annex, my hands slipping against the leather steering wheel from sweat and dust.​Getting out of the vehicle was an ordeal in itself. My left ankle was weak, the skin on my left heel shredded down to the raw layer, making every step down onto the concrete feel as though I were stepping directly onto sharp glass. On top of that, both of my palms were scraped and stinging from where Julian had yanked me onto the asphalt earlier. Raw pink flesh showed around the heels of my hands, lightly smudged with road dirt.​I pulled my long silk cardigan down over my wrists to hide the compression bandage, wiped my dirty p

​The ringing finally stopped at 1:15 AM, leaving the dark penthouse in an oppressive, ringing silence.​I didn't move from my spot beside the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. My legs felt like hollow lead pipes, and my left foot had long past the sharp stage of pain—it was now a dull, hot, throb that radiated all the way up to my lower back. I stood there staring at the city lights, watching the distant neon signs flicker on and off as the power grid struggled against the unrelenting 102-degree night heat.​Then, the private elevator chimed down the hall.​The sharp, metallic DING cut through the quiet apartment like a gunshot.​My whole body recoiled. My heart slammed against my ribs so hard I couldn't catch my breath, my lungs hitching in dry, silent gasps.​Heavy, furious footsteps echoed down the private marble corridor outside my front door. It wasn't just one person—it was three.​BANG! BANG! BANG!​The heavy wooden double doors shook violently in their frame as a fist slammed ag

​The digital alarm clock on my bedside table glowed with a sharp red light: 07:45 AM.​I sat propped up against the pillows of my bed, wearing a pale blue house robe that swallowed my thin, trembling frame. My scraped palms were wrapped loosely in sterile gauze, and my left heel throbbed beneath a fresh white bandage. The air in the bedroom was heavy, stagnant, and stifling, smelling faintly of old dust and the lingering, sweet residue of Clara’s jasmine perfume that had clung to the hallway hours earlier.​I wasn't running anywhere. I hadn't packed a suitcase. I hadn't called for an escape transport, nor had I slipped out into the dawn.​I was right here, exactly where Julian, Beatrice, and Judge Victor expected me to be: trapped, defeated, and utterly at their mercy.​Downstairs in the main lobby, the two uniformed sheriff’s deputies were still stationed by the security turnstiles, ensuring I couldn't leave the building even if my broken heel would allow it. Upstairs, the receiversh

​The grey padded door of Room 104 didn't stay locked for long.​It was barely 2:30 PM when the heavy brass bolt clicked open with a sharp, echoing CLACK.​Nurse Davis stepped into the room, holding a clipboard, her face tight with a mix of professional annoyance and hidden confusion. Behind her stood Arthur Sterling, his forehead slick with sweat, holding his leather briefcase like a shield against his chest.​I shrank back into the corner of the narrow bed, pulling my knees up, clutching the oversized cotton tunic to my throat.​"M-Mr. Sterling...?" I stammered, my voice trembling, tears spilling over my lashes. "Did... did Judge Victor send you to move me to another ward? Please... I've been quiet... I haven't made any noise..."​Arthur Sterling didn't look me in the eye. He cleared his throat, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses with a shaking finger.​"Get your shoes on, Miss Vance," Sterling said briskly, his voice flat. "There has been an administrative hold placed on your clinica