The call connected almost immediately. I rubbed the hem of my shirt between my fingers, nerves twisting in my stomach, and spoke softly.

"Hi, is this Clay Sanchez? I'm the owner of unit 1201, Building 8, Entrance 3..."

A low voice came through the other end.

"What is it?"

"Um... are you free this afternoon? I was wondering if you'd like to... marry me."

In my previous life, when the mob had surrounded our home, Owen had already fled to the basement like a coward. Inside the apartment, it was just my dad and Herbert fighting alongside us, desperately trying to hold them off. But outside, Clay had been the one keeping us alive.

At first, I'd assumed it was just neighborly goodwill.

But the day Owen abandoned me in the desert—left me to bake alive under that merciless sun—Clay went out alone. He searched for an entire day and night until he found my body. He buried me with his own hands.

I heard him weeping at my grave, and that was when I finally understood.

He'd been in love with me for years.

He'd never said a word because I'd been so wrapped up in Owen that there was never any room for anyone else. After I died, he took care of my parents as if they were his own. And in the end, he used every ounce of his influence in Capital City to drive Owen's company into bankruptcy.

That was when I learned the truth—Clay Sanchez was the head of the Capital City Syndicate. The only reason he'd ever lived in our modest little neighborhood was because he wanted to be close to me.

"Hello? Are you going to answer me or not?"

Silence on the other end. My cheeks burned.

"If you don't say something, I'm hanging up!"

What is wrong with this man...

My thumb hovered over the end-call button when that low voice finally came through again.

"I'm already at your door. Don't wait until this afternoon. I want to go now."

We walked out of City Hall with our marriage certificate, and Clay was immediately called away by one of his men—something urgent at the company. I watched him go, then checked the time.

Less than twelve hours until the end of the world.

I drove straight to the biggest supermarket in Capital City. Maybe because last year's heatwave had only lasted three days, everyone had let their guard down. The store was nearly empty.

I let out a breath of relief.

I grabbed compressed biscuits, instant noodles, pickled vegetables, cured meat—anything that would keep and fill a stomach. Then I made a beeline for the water aisle.

Once the apocalypse actually hit, this water wouldn't just be for drinking. I could freeze it into ice blocks with my system to keep my family cool. Water was the single most important thing for survival, so I needed to take as much as I could carry.

I was loading case after case into my cart when I spotted them across the aisle—Owen and Lesley, arm in arm, walking straight toward me.

I turned to leave.

Owen's hand slammed down on the case of water I'd just picked up.

"Wanda, how can you be this selfish? You're cleaning out the entire store. What about everyone else?"

I gestured at the deserted supermarket around us and stared at him.

"Which eye are you using to see me 'cleaning out' anything? Look around. Do you see a single other customer? Who exactly am I keeping from buying water?" I let the contempt drip from every word. "If your brain's broken, go see a doctor. Don't stand here making me sick."

I had zero interest in wasting time on Owen. I gripped my cart and steered toward the next aisle.

He stepped directly into my path.

"You're keeping me from buying. I just reserved every bottle of water in this store. Without my say-so, you're not walking out of here with a single one."

"Reserved? I don't have time for your jokes."

I shoved him aside, my voice dropping to ice.

"Block me one more time and I'm calling security."

There was almost no time left. I truly could not be bothered with him.

I grabbed my cart and tried to leave.

But Owen seized the handle and held on tight. He looked at me with a vicious smile, then pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Hello, is this the purchasing manager at Lucky Star Supermarket? I want to buy every last bottle of water in your store. The deposit has already been transferred to your company account. Don't sell another drop to anyone else."

It happened in the blink of an eye.

A middle-aged man's voice came through the other end, dripping with eagerness to please. "Of course, of course..."

A moment later, the supermarket's PA system crackled to life with a flat, mechanical announcement:

"Attention, shoppers. All water products in this store have been sold out. Please visit another location for your water needs..."

Owen let out a cold laugh, his eyes gleaming with triumph as he looked at me.

"How about that? I told you—without my say-so, you're not walking out of here with a single bottle. Now put every last one of those back on the shelf where you found them. You hear me?!"

I glanced at the time. Less than five hours until the end of the world.

I still had a mountain of daily necessities to prepare. Rush hour was in full swing. Getting to the next supermarket would take forever. And worse, Owen's phone call had probably already sent shockwaves through the store's internal network. By the time I drove to another location, the shelves would be stripped bare.

Without water, my family wouldn't survive the three months of hell that were coming.

I'd been given a second chance at life, and instead of saving everyone, I'd dragged my family and Clay down with me.

The more I thought about it, the more panic clawed at my chest. Tears burned behind my eyes.

Owen was still running his mouth.

"Wanda, considering you waited on me hand and foot for seven years, I'll make you a deal. If you agree right now to let Lesley and her family move into your place, and then get on your knees and apologize to her, I'll let you take the water. Otherwise, I'm hauling every last bottle out of here myself."

Lesley planted her hands on her hips and sneered at me.

"Go on, sweetie. Kneel. Or we're taking all of it."

"You're not taking anything."

The words came from behind me before Lesley's smirk could settle. A low, familiar voice.

Clay was standing at my back. I had no idea when he'd arrived.

He pointed at Owen and Lesley, his tone ice-cold.

"Get out."

Irritation flashed across Owen's face. He jabbed a finger at Clay.

"Who the hell are you?! This is between me and my girlfriend. What's it got to do with you?!"

Clay grabbed Owen's outstretched finger and bent it backward. Hard.

Over the shrill, ugly sound of Owen's screaming, Clay spoke, his voice steady and low.

"I own this supermarket. So I'm going to need you to get out. Right now."

My mind went blank.

This supermarket was Clay's.

What had I been panicking for?

"And before you leave," Clay continued, "put back every single item you pulled off those shelves. Exactly where you found them."

I looked at Owen's cart, heaped with a chaotic mountain of goods, and couldn't hold back a laugh.

Sorting through that mess and returning everything to its proper place would take at least three hours.

I checked my watch. Four hours until the heat hit.

Owen wouldn't have time to prepare a thing.

"Fine! We'll put it back!"

Lesley planted her hands on her hips, craned her neck at Clay, and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Owen scrambled behind her, yanking at her clothes, trying desperately to shut her up. It didn't work.

So Lesley's stupidity wasn't an act after all.

But Owen still had a shred of sense left. He shoved Lesley behind him, pointed at the cart full of goods, and ground out through clenched teeth—

"Fine! I'll put all this stuff back! It's just a bunch of snacks—big deal!"

He pulled out a fistful of receipts and waved them in my face.

"I already bought a ton of fans and air conditioners from HomeStyle Plaza downstairs. With all that, we'll ride out the heatwave in total comfort!"

The second the words left Owen's mouth, Clay let out a cold laugh.

"HomeStyle Plaza is mine too."

I grabbed Clay's arm before he could say another word, shooting him a look.

"Drop it. Don't waste any more time on them. I'm starving—let's just go home and make dinner."

Clay looked at me, confusion written all over his face.

"Wanda, those fans and ACs—I bought them for us and both sets of parents. A buddy of mine said this heat advisory isn't going to blow over anytime soon. You're really just going to let him walk off with all of it?"

"Those things are useless. Trust me. Once the heat really hits, the power grid won't last three days. When that happens, all those appliances will just be dead weight—one more thing for people to lose their minds over."

I took his hand and pulled him toward the exit.

Owen was too busy consoling Lesley, who was throwing a fit over losing her snacks, to catch a word of what I'd said.

I glanced at the stack of receipts in his hand and smiled to myself.

Owen's apartment was barely four hundred square feet, and he'd crammed Lesley's entire family of five in there with him. Once all those air conditioners and fans got hauled inside, there wouldn't be room to breathe, let alone stand. When the heat cranked up the tension, people trapped in a space that tight wouldn't die of heatstroke first—they'd lose their minds. How perfect.

It wasn't until we stepped outside the supermarket that I realized Clay had already sent a fleet of trucks and a crew of his guys to wait in the parking lot. They'd originally come to haul refrigerators, fans, and ACs. Now every last truck got loaded with water instead.

I'd also stocked up on solar-powered battery packs.

Watching crate after crate of water and supplies get carried into the apartment, I finally felt safe.

Thank God I'd bought that oversized condo. I used to regret it every time I had to clean the place. Now it looked like the best decision I'd ever made.

I checked the time, then sent Clay to pick up both our parents. Meanwhile, I arranged for his crew to move into Clay's place.

Once everything was settled, I treated myself to a proper barbecue dinner.

While scrolling through my phone, I spotted a post Owen had just put up on social media.

Check it out—this is what real security looks like. No heatwave stands a chance against technology!

The video showed fans, refrigerators, and air conditioners crammed wall to wall inside Owen's tiny apartment.

I popped a slice of beef into my mouth and glanced at the clock.

Less than one minute until the heatwave hit.

In the blink of an eye, the sky—already dimming into evening—blazed white.

It had begun.

The indoor temperature shot to a hundred and four degrees.

Owen kept updating his feed nonstop.

Lesley and I are officially the smartest people alive. Thirteen ACs plus eighteen fans = a cool 72°F. Life is GOOD.

He posted a temperature update practically every hour, and every single time he made sure to tag me.

Three hours later, the temperature inside had soared to a hundred and forty degrees.

Owen called me.

His voice dripped with smugness on the other end of the line.

"So, Wanda—how much water have you gone through? Hope you haven't drowned yourself yet."

But before he could finish the sentence, a chain of sharp, crackling explosions erupted from the power lines outside.

In the blink of an eye, the city—every light, every glow, every last flicker—went black.