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.