In my previous life, the apocalyptic haunts descended without warning, and the whole world plunged into a living hell.

After two days of starvation, my husband and mother-in-law tied me to a chair.

I begged them desperately, but they did not spare me. Instead, to keep their "food" fresh, they sliced the flesh straight from my leg.

When I was reborn, I spent every last cent of my fortune to hold a grand, extravagant funeral, for myself.

My husband and mother-in-law thought I had lost my mind.

However, what they had not known was this: anyone who buried themselves could claim the treasures laid to rest in their own coffin: golden coins that could command the anomalies of the end times.

Which meant that with this extravagant funeral, I would stand invincible when the apocalypse arrived.

That time, without me as their "meat" and scapegoat… I would see how long they lasted.

In the early days of the end times, my villa, thanks to its peculiar design, was a fortress against the lesser haunts. It was our safe haven.

Safe as we were inside, the fact that we could not step outside spelled out a grim reality: no food.

Hunger struck hard, and after two days, my husband, Christopher Larson, and mother-in-law, Sally Parker, had me bound to a chair. It was beyond my wildest nightmares that they would turn on me like that.

My pleas fell on deaf ears; they were merciless. To keep their 'food' fresh for a few more days, they went so far as to carve the flesh from my legs. The agony and despair hit me like a tidal wave. I screamed until my voice was nothing but a rasp, only to hear them complain, saying, "This woman's meat is so tough!"

To keep me from dying of infection, they even shoved anti-inflammatory drugs down my throat.

Those seven days were a blur of torment, and how I made it through, I could not say. On the eighth day's dawn, the greater haunts arrived, and every last refuge crumbled. My husband and his mother, desperate to live, pushed what was left of me, almost a skeleton, out the door without a second thought.

I lay there on the doorstep carpet, feeling every excruciating moment as the haunts gnawed me down to my bones.

They were thrilled when the greater haunts paused because of me, seizing the chance my sacrifice gave them to flee without a backward glance.

My awareness, my every sensation, did not fade until I was picked clean. I felt it all, every moment of being devoured. I saw with my own eyes my transformation from a person to mere fragments.

However, who could have guessed that I, who had been tortured to death in the apocalypse, would find myself reborn a month before it all began?

Staring at my whole, unharmed reflection, it all felt like a distant dream.

I had to pinch myself, hard, before I could believe it: I was actually reborn!

I had not even started to celebrate when I heard footsteps behind me.

Christopher was there, his arms encircling my waist. "Honey, you've been working so hard you're wasting away. I'm tied up with work. I thought it'd be best to have my mom stay here and look after you."

Chills ran down my spine, and it took every ounce of self-control to quash the impulse to end him right there.

This had all happened in my previous life. Under the pretense of caring for me, Christopher brought his mother into our home. They preyed on my vulnerability, my longing for the family I lost too soon. They played me with sweet nothings, and I fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.

He claimed he wanted his mother there to care for me, but as soon as Sally arrived, she swiped my jewelry, claiming she needed to tidy our room.

I was so blind then, thinking it was okay if it made her happy.

The very next day, Sally complained of feeling sick.

Back then, I felt sorry for her, so I took over the chores, winding up as the caretaker for both her and Christopher.

Not long after, Sally lamented that she was intruding on our marital bliss and wanted to rent her own place.

To ease her worries, I handed her the other villa I owned in our neighborhood.

Then, Sally played the sympathy card again, bemoaning her niece's plight, abandoned by her man, with a child, and no place to call home. She said she was powerless to help.

So, I gave one of my properties to Sally's niece.

Back then, I truly believed that family was family, and Sally's kin were my kin.

Sally's laughter rang out as she clutched my hand, beaming at me like I was her own flesh and blood.

Christopher's voice was soft as he told me how lucky they were to have me, the perfect wife, in their lives.

However, it was not until everything fell apart, when they turned on me, treating me like nothing more than a resource, that I saw the truth behind their mother-son conspiracy.

Their kindness, their warmth: it was all just a charade to blindside me.

Christopher had never really loved me. He had seen a lonely woman, orphaned and wealthy, and he had crafted his courtship with precision.

The so-called homeless niece that Sally was always fussing over was actually his wife and kids from back home.

With that knowledge, I could not help but smile sweetly and say, "Oh, darling, I've been missing your mother too."

Christopher's smirk was all confidence as he replied, "You can relax at home. I'll go bring Mom over, and tonight, you'll get to savor her home-cooked meals, the ones you adore."

I played along, my nod full of feigned excitement.

He patted my hair and rushed off to fetch Sally.

I watched him go, my smile twisting into something far more sinister. The gang was getting back together again.

However, this time, with apocalyptic haunts everywhere, I wondered how long their devoted act could last without me being their prey.

Once Christopher was gone, I quickly calculated my wealth.

For years, Christopher had been craftily trying to get his hands on my wealth, but all he managed to snag was a bit of my cash. The real treasure trove in my name? It was a collection of houses.

My dad had been worried about me, his daughter, getting taken advantage of. So, he had a lawyer turn everything he left me into real estate. Thanks to that, I could live a life of leisure, never worrying about my next meal, all on the back of those rental checks.

That was precisely why, in my previous life, the two of them never stopped tricking me out of my house.

Now, facing my own over-the-top funeral plans, I needed to turn all my bricks and mortar into cold, hard cash. However, there was one place I could not part with: the villa I called home. When the end of the world kicked off, that place, with its unique design, became a fortress against the haunts.

That was why, in my previous life, I was only cast out once the greater haunts came in the final stages of the apocalypse.

I was curious to see what the apocalypse had in store for my fortress this time.

However, when the world was in hell, a regular house was not worth anything.

I cracked the safe open, left two property titles inside, and stuffed the rest into my suitcase.

Once everything was set, and with Christopher out fetching Sally, I grabbed my suitcase, hopped in the car, and headed straight for Dustin Hill, my late dad's business rival.

I did not beat around the bush. I walked into his place, flung open my suitcase full of deeds, and laid it out straight: I was selling off all my properties.

Dustin looked like I had hit him with a bolt from out of the blue. I could see he was itching to make a deal, but he played it cool, asking me what had gotten under my skin to come to him so suddenly.

If I went around talking about being reborn after the apocalypse, people would think I was insane. Even if he did buy into my story, I would not spill the beans to him.

After all, it was his dirty tricks that had sent my dad to an early grave, choking on his own rage when his project went south.

With the clock ticking, I played the innocent card. "Mr. Hill, my friend has this investment lined up that will triple our money! However, you know the drill. When my old man kicked the bucket, he made sure I was set for life, turning most of my inheritance into real estate. That left me pretty strapped for cash. And the only guy I know who can cough up that kind of dough so fast is you, Mr. Hill. So..."

Dustin's eyes danced with a wicked glee as he agreed to my pitch.

However, the guy was a shark, only willing to fork over 70 percent of what my properties were worth on the market.

We were talking about a cool 45 million dollars in assets, which meant I only got 31.5 million out of him.

I clenched my jaw and took the deal.

Dustin was all smiles, practically tripping over himself to get me to sign on the dotted line, promising to wire the cash in a month.

I put the brakes on that. "Mr. Hill, my friend says this deal's got only ten days left on the clock, so I need that money this week."

Dustin scowled, and I let out a weary sigh. "If that's too much to ask, then let's just forget the whole thing."

Like a hawk on a mouse, Dustin pounced, saying, "A week it is!"

We inked the deal, and Dustin handed over a cool 15 million dollars upfront, agreeing to settle the rest within the week.

I caught Dustin's smug grin and could not help but scoff to myself. 'When the apocalypse comes, you'll see. All this will be nothing but trash.'

After leaving Dustin's place, I made a beeline for Zephyr City's grandest funeral home. The ambiance was serene, with soft lighting and the mingling fragrances of lilies and candles. A somber-suited funeral manager approached me, his voice deep and courteous as he said, "Good afternoon. Whose funeral is it?"

I cut to the chase. "I need a funeral. The most lavish one you can pull off. Don't worry about the cost."

The manager blinked, taken aback. Then, he asked, "Forgive me, but whose funeral are we planning?"

I pressed my lips together. "Mine."

He looked at me, a mix of concern and curiosity in his eyes, and asked gently, "Are you sick, or in some kind of trouble?"

I offered a wry smile. "You could say that. If I don't get this funeral sorted, I may not last much longer."

His eyes lit up with a mix of intrigue and understanding. "Did you get some kind of omen or advice from a sage to do this?"

I picked up where the manager left off. "Sounds about right. I want you to put together the most extravagant funeral you can imagine. Let's start with a budget of 30 million dollars. If we need more, I'll let you know. And schedule it for the 21st."

In my previous life, the apocalypse hit on the 22nd. If I got the funeral out of the way by the 21st, I could kick back at home and watch the world crumble.

The manager looked like he had seen a ghost. He sputtered, "Your budget is... What? Thirty million dollars? You're pulling my leg, right?"